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" deem not, ^midft this ivorldly ftrife, 
An idle art the Poet brings : 
Let high Philcfophy control, 
And Sages calm the Jir earn of Life, 
^Tis he refines its fount ain-Jprings, 
The nobler pajjions of the foul" 

Campbell. 






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Mutbov of 



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Ptoberbial Plnlo^ophu:' &e. 






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IHmcu Corner, PatvrniTSfcr Kcmr . 




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bn Special Fonnt'^toit. 

Bern Komi Di$in>t;Sg 





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g ™ oriels of Wu^eg . 



CITHARA: 



A SELECTION FROM 



%\t 1 g r I t $ 



IS 

MARTIN F. TUPPER, 

♦V 

AUTHOR OF "THREE HUNDRED SONNETS," " PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY, 
ETC. ETC. ETC. 



n% 







LONDON : 

Virtue Brothers & Co., i, Amen Corner, 

Paternqfter Row. 

1863. 



■i S~ J) 6*3 



LONDON : 

PRINTED BY JAMES S. VIRTUE, 

CITY ROAD. 



Contents. 



PAGE 

Our Greeting to the Princefs Alexandra . . i 

The Poet's Miffion 4 

The Atlantic Telegraph ..... 7 

The Firjl Mejfage 9 

Energy . . . . . . . .11 

Orry the Dane . . . . . . . 15 

King Veric . . . . . . 17 

One among the Million . . . . 22 

The Truth about Pity . . . . .24 

Thefe Days . . . . . . 25 

TAe Heart" s Harvejt . ,. . . . .28 

Warmth . . . . . . . . 30 

The Mingled Cup . . . . . . -32 

A Maxim of Peace . . . . . . 34 

Home ... . . . . . -36 

Human Life . . . . . . . 39 

-^ Night-fail in the Race of Alder ney . . . 41 

Fons Parnqffi (the Solace of Song) . . . . 43 

Revifiting Charterhoufe . . . . -45 

Nature's Nobleman . . . . . 47 

Never give up ! . . . . . . .48 



vi Contents. 



PAGE 



The Sifters . . . . . . . . 49 

Tlie Way of the World . . . . -5° 

Courage . . . . . . . . . 52 

Envy -53 

The Moon and Moonfliine . . . . . 54 

Self-Pojejion $$ 

The Complaint of an Ancient Briton, difint erred ly 

Archceolo gifts . . . . . . '.-. $6 

Farley Heath . . . . .'.--. -59 

St. Martha s, near Guildford, Surrey . . . 62 

Sloth _ . 72 

Activity ........ 73 

Adventure . . . . . . « 75 

The Song of Sixteen . . . . ..77 

Forty ........ 79 

The Song of Seventy . . . . . . 80 

" My Mind to me a Kingdom is" . . . 82 

Threnos . . . . . . . . 93 

The Dead ....... 95 

A Memorial Window for the Anglo-Saxon Race . 98 
The Anglo-Saxon Race . .. . . .101 

Non Anglifed Angeli . . . . ... 102 

Circumftance . . . . . . .105 

Venus : a Reply' to Longfellow's " Mars " . . 106 
God prefer ve the Queen! . . . . .108 

Wifdoms Wi/h no 

The Mother s Lament . . . . .112 

Truft 114 

The New Year ll S 

To a Generous Youth . . . . ..117 

Silence . . . . . . . .118 

AU y s for the Bejl ! 119 



Contents. 


vii 




PAGE 


The Riddle Read ..... 


I20 


RetrofpeEi . . . . 


122 


P oft- Letters . . . . 


. 123 


Fortitude: new Words to "Mynheer Van Dunk" 


126 


The Idiot : a true Tale of Terror 


I27 


The Poor Mans Sunday .... 


I29 


My own Place ..... 


. I30 


England's Heart ...... 


133 


Bygones (for MuficJ .... 


■ 134 


Mercy to Animals ..... 


■ 135 




138 


Another Harveft Hymn, 1849 


T40 


Arm! Thefirfi Rifle Ballad, January, 1852 


. 142 


Reply, to fundry who objecl to "Arm" . 


144 


The Laft Time ...... 


j 46 


Never Mind ! 


148 


Rife, Britannia! Written and printed in 1846, anc 


I 


then headed by a ft range anticipation, "a 


i 


ftirring Song for Patriots in the year 1 860 ' 


149 


The Emigrant Ship ..... 


*5« 


Individuality ...... 


*53 


The AJfurance of Horace . 


'55 


Cruelty ....... 


156 


Old Haunts (for Mufic) .... 


*59 


Children . . . . . 


160 


Dreams . . 


162 


Infant Chrift, with Flowers .... 


163 


Nobody Feels or Cares! . 


i*5 


Low Spirits ....... 


166 


Canterbury Pilgrims : a " God-fpeed" 


167 


New Zealand: a Song for the Antipodes 


168 


The Labourer s Ballad . 


170 



viii Contents. 






PAGE 


The New Home . 




173 


Pauper Burials 


. 


^77 


A Word of Wifdom 




J 79 


The Early Gallop 


. 


180 


Para Thina . 




181 


Self- Reliance 


. 


182 


My Epfom Ride . 




183 


Cafle. For the South Indian School- Book . 


184 


Engli/h Spirit 


. 


rtS 


The Inauguration of the 


Prince Conforms Statue 




(for Mafic) 




188 


A Rifle Ballad 




189 


The Battle of Roleia : a Military Ballad 


190 


Waterloo : a Ballad for the Soldier 


^93 


A Dirge for Wellington 




202 


Defence, not Defiance: a 


Rifle Song 


. 209 


Eheu ! fugaces . 




210 


A Wedding Lyric for the Princefs of Prufiia . 


211 


Once More : a Lefijon from the Bruce s Spider 


. 213 


The Senfe of Wrong 




• *i5 


The Senfe of Right . 




216 


Railway Times 




217 


Detraction 


. 


219 


The Heart and the Mind 


. 


220 


What we all Feet 


. 


222 


The Gentleman 




• 223 


Warning 




• 22j 


The Common Complaint 




226 


Anfwered 




227 


FaB .... 




. 228 


The Good and the True 


. 


229 


Chaos Cry/iallizing 


. 


. 23O 



Contents. 




ix 






PAGE 


A Confolation ..... 




232 


A Sigh 




2*33 


Welcome ! ..... 




134 


Balm ....... 




236 


Selfiflinefs ..... 




238 


The Man about Town .... 




239 


Tang ley Pond ..... 


. 


24O 


Charity ...... 




242 


Calculated Comfort .... 




244 


Paradife Loft ..... 




2 45 






246 


Confidence ...... 




247 


Freedom ...... 




248 


Lo??o- ^o-o ^br MuficJ 




250 






2 5* 


Truth ....... 




2 53 


Dz/fy 




2 54 


Moving on . 




*55 


England 's Welcome to the World: a Ballad for 




1851 


. 


2 57 


A Hymn for all Nations: tranflated into 


Thirty 




Languages, 1851 . 




2 59 




'or km an 


261 


^ Z/fl/2 Ca/Z a£ the Palace of Glafs 


. 


263 


A Reverie about the Cry fiat Palace 




265 


Rich and Poor : a Ballad for Sympathy 




266 


The International, 1862 




269 


The Sabbath : a Ballad for the Labourer 




270 


Country Life ..... 




273 


From (< American Lyrics," 1851. To the 


Union ; 








276 


D if union 5 J 861 




278 



x Contents. 




PAGE 


Italy s Nemejis, i860 .... 


. 280 


Slandered Worth ...... 


. 282 


Bows and Rifles : a Song for Volunteers 


. 283 


A Song for Rifle Clubs 


. 284 


The Soldier Comforted .... 


. 28j 


The Gracious Meffage ..... 


. 286 


The Hero's Wife: in Illuf ration of the Princej 


s 


Royal" s PiSlure ..... 


. 287 


Soho : a Courfing Canzonet .... 


. 288 


The Happy Man 


. 289 


Memory (for Mujic) . . . . . 


. 290 


Genius and Friends ..... 


291 


Cheer up ! (for Mujic) 


. 292 


" How much worfe it might have been! " a Tex 


t 


for the DiJ contented . 


■ 2 93 


Down with Foreign Priejlcraft, 18 ji 


• 294 


The Unit ....... 


• 2 9j 


The old Nefi (for Mujic) .... 


. 296 


" Dieu et mon Droit: " a Loyal Text 


■ 2 97 


The Laurel Crown ..... 


. 298 


An Efcape ...... 


299 


" Liberty — Equality — Fraternity ! " 


300 


The Prince of Wales in America, i860 


. 306 


True Nobility ...... 


307 


To Brother Jonathan, 1850 


309 


At Caftle Mona, i860 


3i3 


" Ye Thirty Noble Nations" 1851 


3H 


Liberia to America . . . . . 


3*9 


To Certain of " the Fourth Eftate" 


320 


For the Invalid Ladies' Inftitution . . . 


322 


Bluchers " Forwards ! " ..... 


32*3 


Afpire . . . . . • • • 


3^4 



Contents. 



XI 



The Opium Trade ..... 

The Golden Mean ..... 

The Cotton Famine ..... 

Grey Hair ....... 

The Burnt Church, St. George s, Doncafter . 

Alice- Evelyn ...... 

One Gone Before 

Friends in Heaven . . . . 

Enfranchifed ...... 

The Ballqft- Heavers Requeft, 1863 

The true Albert Memorial 

For the Bible, given by the Maidens of England 
to the Princefs Alice on her Marriage, July 1, 
1862 . . 

A Pf aim for Harvefl . 

The Heart's Gallop . . . . . . 



PAGE 
326 

329 
331 
33* 

333 
334 
337 
338 

339 
34o 

342 



344 
345 
348 



CITHARA. 



-x- 



©ur imfing to % § imtm ^kmto; 

A hundred thoufand Welcomes ! 
A hundred thoufand Welcomes, 

And a hundred thoufand more ! 
O happy heart of England, 
Shout aloud, and fing, land, 

As no land fang before ! 

And let the paean foar 

And ring from more to more 
A hundred thoufand Welcomes, 

And a hundred thoufand more ! 

And let the cannons roar 

The joy-fmnn'd city o'er, 
And let the fieeples chime it 
A hundred thoufand Welcomes, 

And a hundred thoufand more, — 
And let the people rhyme it 

From neighbour's door to door, . 

From every man's heart's core, — 
A hundred thoufand Welcomes, 

And a hundred thoufand more ! 



To the Princefs Alexandra. 



ii. 

She comes ! the Maid of Denmark, 
The Raven,— NO ! The Dove ! 
The Royal Maid of Denmark, 
The darling child of Denmark, 
To be our Queen of Love 5 
She comes ! His young and beauteous Bride, 
Behold her at the Prince's fide, 
His trueft crown, his joy and pride,— 
She comes ! All blerlings on her ! 
Our Albert-Edward's happy choice, 
Making the World's great foul rejoice 
That fuch a Prince has won her y 

For, fearch'd we all the nations round, 
No fairer, better could be found, 
None in whofe lot more hopes abound, 
Of joy, and peace, and honour ! 
Then, fhout amain with heart and voice, 
And let the ftartled welkin found 
From echoing fhore to fliore, 
A hundred thoufand Welcomes ! 
A hundred thoufand Welcomes ! 
And a hundred thoufand more ! 



in. 



O glad and glorious Day ! 
O multitude on multitude, 
O deep magnetic brotherhood, 

And yearning all one way ! 



To the Princefs Alexandra. 



O fpirit-ftirring cheers, 
O hearts that bnrft in tears 
All fobbing in the fun, 
And throbbing all as one ! 
O flags, like meteors gleaming, 
In mad excitement ftreaming ! 
O thundering guns and clanging peals ! 
O joy, wherewith all England reels, — 
Was ever fuch a Welcome 
In all the days of yore ? 
Was ever fuch a Triumph, 
Or ever fhall be more ? 
Let fluttering hearts confefs it, 
And ftreaming cheeks exprefs it, 
And prayers in lilence blefs it ! 
Let clapping hands in quick furprife, 
And, electric as She comes, 
Flags and flowers, trumpets, drums, 
Throbbing breafts and thrilling cries, 
Waving fcarfs and flalhing eyes, 
And all this furging multitude, 
This eager, overwhelming flood, 
Sifters and brothers; like a fea 
Rippling its million fmiles for Thee, — 
O let all thefe declare it, 
Let miles of fhouting fwear it, 
In all the years of yore 
Unparalleled before ! 
And Thou, moft welcome Wander r 

Acrofs the Northern Water, 
Our England's Alexandra — 
Our dear adopted Daughter — 



The Poefs MrJJton. 



Lay to thine heart, conn'd o'er and o'er, 
In future years remember' d well, 
The magic fervour of this fpell, 
That makes the Land from fhore to ihore, 
And makes all hearts and eyes brim o'er, 
Our hundred thoufand Welcomes ! 
Our fifty million Welcomes, 
And a hundred million more ! 



%\t Jwt's pssion. 

Not to flatter Kings, 

Not to ferve a Court, 
Born for nobler things 

Than to make them fport :■■ 
Loyal, gentle, kind, 

Yet honeft, frank, and free. 
Pure in life and mind, 

Mufl the Poet be. 

Meeknefs at his heart, 

With triumph on his brow ! 
This, the Chrillian's part, 

Is his daily vow -, 
Zealous for the beft 

His earneft fpirit can, 
As, at God's belief!, 

Swift to gladden Man. 



The Poet's MiJJion. 



Honour thou the Gift, 

Count it no man's Have 3 
To the Lord uplift 

What his bounty gave 3 
Let thy fpirit fpring 

Up to Heaven's gate, 
There on quivering wing 

Song to confecrate ! 

Song, — it foothes the heart 3 

Song,— it charms the world 3 
Song, — it is a dart 

By a giant hurl'd 3 
Song,— a torrent's ftrength 

In its force is found, 
When, uproufed at length, 

Nations hear the found. 



Hark ! they hear, and feel, 

And may ileep no more 3 
Hark ! the patriot peal 

Rings from more to fhore 3 
And, in danger's hour, 

Stands the Poet then 
Girt about with power 

As a king of men. 

At his burning fpell 
Quakes the folid fhore, 

And with furging fwell 
Rifes Ocean's roar, 



The Poet's Miflion. 



Till the People's will 
Like a ftorm is heard, 

Conjured by the fkill 
Of their Poet's word. 

At his gentle voice 

All that ftorm is calm, 
And the heav'ns rejoice, 

And the breeze is balm, 
And Hofannas rife 

From a Nation's heart, 
Flaming to the ikies 

Through the Poet's art ! 

Art ? — it is his breath, 

That fong-burft of the Soul ; 
Art ? — it might be death 

His yearnings to control ; 
Not by fuch a name 

Call the glorious birth 
Of this heavenly flame 

Lit to kindle earth. 

As his heart may glow, 

Freely muft his fong 
Like an overflow 

Gufh out frelh and ftrong ; 
No conllraint be there 

His energies to tire, 
Zeal and love and prayer 

String the Poet's lyre ! 



World ! what a wonder is this, 

Grandly and limply fublime, — 
All the Atlantic abyfs 

Leapt in a nothing of time ! 
Even the feeds of the fun 

Half a day panting behind, 
In the flat race that is run, 

Won by a flam of the Mind ! 

Lo ! on this fenfitive link — 

It is one link, not a chain — 
Man with his brother can think 

Spurning the breadth of the Main ; 
Man to his brother can fpeak 

Swift as the bolt from a cloud, 
And where its thunders were weak 

There his leaft whifper is loud I 

Yea ; for as Providence wills, 
Now doth intelligent Man 

Conquer material ills, 

Wreftling them down as he can, — 



And by one weak little coil 
Under the width of the waves, 

Diftance and Time are his fpoil, 
Fetter'd as Caliban-flaves ! 

Ariel ? — right through the fea 

We can fly fwift as in air 5 
Puck ? — forty minutes ihall be 

Sloth to the bow that we bear : 
Here is Earth's girdle indeed, 

Jufl a thought-circlet of fire, — 
Delicate Ariel freed, 

Sings, as fhe flies, on a wire ! 

Courage, O fervants of light, 

For you are fafe to fucceed 5 
Lo ! you are helping the Right, 

And lhall be bleft in your deed ; 
Lo ! you lhall bind in one band, 

Joining the nations as one, 
Brethren of every land, 

Bleffing them under the fun ! 

This is Earth's pulfe of high health 

Thrilling with vigour and heat, 
Brotherhood, wifdom, and wealth, 

Throbbing in every beat 5 
But you muff watch in good footh 

Left to falfe fever it fwerve, — 
Touch it with tenderer!: truth 

As the world's exquifite nerve ! 



The Firji Me f age. 



Let the firft MeiTage acrofs — 

High-hearted Commerce, give heed- 
Not be of profit or lofs, 

But one electric indeed : 
Praife to the Giver be given, 

For that He giveth man ikill, 
Praife to the great God of Heaven ! 

" Peace upon Earth, and Goodwill! " 



%\t first Sbsase. 



(strophe.) 

Poor World ! that in wickednefs Hell 

Enthrall' d by the powers of ill, 
And, groaning and travailing, figheft 
For better and happier mil, — 
Lo ! here is a chance 

For helping the right, 
And forcing advance 
In the enemy's fight, 
By godly confeflion and brotherly love ; 

By owning on Whom thou relief!:, 
And openly trufting the Ruler above ; 
By bidding the very firft thrill 
On the nerve of this telegraph wire 
Be — nothing of fcience, or profit and lofs ; 

But, flaihing electrical deeper and higher, 
World, let the firft heart-ftirring menage acrofs- 



(O MefTage ! rejoice as thou flieft, 
All faints and all angels who fill 
Infinity farther! and nigheft) — 
Be — " Glory to God in the Higheft ! 
Peace upon Earth, and Goodwill ! " 



(antistrophe.) 

Ay, Man ! who with energy trieft 

To conquer by ftrength or by fkill, 
Refolved, though in body thou dieft, 
In fpirit to wreftle up-hill, 
Lo ! here is a gain 

To be won by a word, 
If under the main 

The firfl that is heard 
Be brotherly kindnefs and heavenly praife 5 

If, while thou in courage deficit 
The winds and the waves and all perils always, 
Enflaving thofe giants, until 
They meekly obey thy defire, — 
If thus, the firft whifper that proves thee their lord, 

Their mafter and gaoler by fetters of fire, 
Be this — the fublimefi and happieft word — 
(O MefTage ! rejoice as thou flieft, 
All faints and all angels who fill 
Infinity fartheft and nigheft) — 
Be — " Glory to God in the Higheft, 
Peace upon Earth, and Goodwill ! " 



ferp. 



Indomitable merit 

Of the flout old Englifh mind.! 
That makes a man inherit 

The glories of his kind — 
That fcatters all around him 

Until he Hands fublime, 
With nothing to confound him 

The conqueror of Time, — 
O mighty Perfeverance ! 

courage, Hern and flout, 
That wills and works a clearance 

Of every rabble rout, — 
That cannot brook denial 

And fcarce allows delay, 
But wins from every trial 

More flrength for every day, — 
Antagoniflic Power ! 

1 praife — for praife I can — 
The God, the place, the hour 

That makes a man a Man — 



The God, from whom all greatnefs- 

The place, old England's more — 
The hour, an hour of latenefs 

(For Time may foon be o'er) — 
The Man — ay, every brother 

Of Anglo-Saxon race 
Who owns a Britifh mother 

In Freedom's dwelling-place ! 



ii. 



I feel, I feel within me 

That courage felf-poffeff'd-— 
The force, that yet ftiall win me 

The brightefl and the befl: — 
The ftalwart Englifh daring 

That fteadily fleps on, 
Unfwerving and unfparing 

Until the world is won, — 
The boldnefs and the quiet 

That calmly go ahead, 
In fpite of wrath and riot, 

In fpite of quick and dead, — 
Hot Energy to fpur me, 

Keen Enterprife to guide, 
And Confcience to upftir me, 

And Duty by my fide, 
And Hope before me finging 

Aflu ranee of fuccefs, 
And rapid Action fpringing 

At once to nothing lefs, 



And all the mighty movings 

That wreftle in my breaft, 
The longings and the lovings, 

The Spirit's glad unreft 
That fcorns excufe to tender 

Or Fortune's favour aik, 
And never will furrender, 

Whatever be the talk ! 



in. 

I cannot wait for chances, 

For luck I will not look ; 
In faith my fpirit glances 

At Providence — God's book 3 
And there, difcerning truly, 

That right is might at length, 
I dare go forward duly 

In quietnefs and ftrength, 
Unflinching and unfearing, 

The flatterer of none, 
And in good courage wearing 

The honours I have won ! 
Let Circumftance oppofe me, 

I beat it to my will 3 
And if the flood o'erflows me, 

I dive and item it Hill, — 
No hindering dull material 

Shall conquer or control 
My energies ethereal — 

My gladiator foul ! 



I will contrive oecafion, 

Not tamely bide my time 5 
No Capture, but Creation 

Shall make my fport fublime ! 
Let lower fpirits linger 

For iign by beck or nod, 
I always fee the finger 

Of an onward-urging God ! 



IV. 

Not felfiih — not hard-hearted — 

Not vain, nor deaf, nor blind- 
From wifdom not departed, 

But in humblenefs of mind, 
Still fliall mine independence 

Stand manfully alone, 
Nor dance a tame attendance 

On any mortal throne, 
Difciple of no teacher 

Except the One in Heav'n, 
And yielding to no creature 

The Reafon He hath giv'n ! 
Oh thus, while contemplation 

In faith beholds above 
My glorious hope, Salvation, 

Eternity of Love, 
And while an Englifh fpirit 

Is bubbling at my heart, 
To ftrengthen and upftir it 

To play a giant's part, 



Orry the Dane. 15 



No hindrance, nor misfortune — 

No man's neglect, nor ill, 
Shall bend me to importune 

One weak indulgence Hill 5 
But with my God to nerve me, 

My foul fhall overwhelm 
All circumftance to ferve me 

In my Spiritual Realm ! 



©rrj % §sw. 



In fifty keels and five 

Rufh'd over the pirate fwarm, 
Hornets out of the Northern hive, 

Hawks on the wings of the ftorm ; 
Blood upon talons and beak, 

Blood from their helms to their heels, 
Blood on the hand and blood on the cheek !- 

In five and fifty keels. 

O fierce and terrible horde 

That fhout about Orry the Dane, 
Clanging the fhield and claming the fword 

To the roar of the fiorm-toffed main ! 
And hard on the fhore they drive, 

Ploughing through fhingle and fand, — 
And high and dry thofe fifty and five 

Are haul'd in line upon land. 



i6 



Orry the Dane. 



And ho ! for the torch frraightway, 

In honour of Odin and Thor, — 
And the blazing night is as bright as the day, 

As a gift to the gods of war ; 
For down to the melting fand, 

A.nd over each flaring matt, 
Thofe fifty and five they have burnt as they ftand 

To the tune of the furf and the blafl ! 

A ruthlefs, defperate crowd 

They trample the fhingle at Lhane, 
And hungry for flaughter they clamour aloud 

For the Viking, for Orry the Dane ! 
And fwift has he flown at the foe,, — 

For the cluttering clans are here, — 
But light is the club and weak is the bow 

To the Norfeman fword and fpear $ 

And woe to the patriot Manx, 

The right overthrown by the wrong, — 
For the fword hews hard at the daggering ranks, 

And the fpear drives deep and ftrong : 
And Orry the Dane Hands proud 

King of the bloodftained field, 
Lifted on high by the mouldering crowd 

On the batter' d bofs of his fhield. 



Yet, though fuch a man of blood, 

So terrible, fierce, and fell, 
King Orry the Dane had come hither for good, 

And govern'd the clans right well 3 



King Veric. iy 

Freedom and laws and right, 

He fow'd the good feed all round, — . 

And built up high in the People's fight 
Their famous Tynwald mound.; 



And elders twenty and four 

He fet for the Houfe of Keys, 
And all was order from fhore to more 

In the faireft Ifle of the Seas : 
Though he came a Deflroyer, I wift, 

He remain'd as a Ruler to fave, 
And there he ileeps in the roadfide kill 

They call King Orry's grave^ 



ling, $ eric* 

Veric the King, in his chariot of war, 

Like a ftatue flraight upflood, 
As his fcythed wheels flaih'd fall and far, 

Smear'd with the Romans' blood; 
His huge bronze celt was crimfon with gore, 

And, round his unkempt head, 
The golden fillet his fathers wore 

Was dabbled with drops of red ! 



1 8 King Veric. 



And rage in the monarch's eye blazed bright, 

And his cheek was deadly pale, 
For Plautius Aulus had won the fight 

With his mighty men in mail : 
The carrofs of hide and the wicker targe 

Were riddled far and near 5 
And terrible was the praetorian charge, 

And keen the cohort's fpear. 

And over the hurt-wood, and over the heath, 

Alone — alive he fled -, 
For the car bore ftraight to his ftronghold of Leith 

The living — and the dead ! 
Young Mepati lay at his father's feet, 

Hew'd by the ruthlefs foe ; 
And the bloodhound may track on the trickling peat 

The pathlefs way they go. 

Young Mepati — well had he borne him then, 

On Fair-lee's fatal day, 
He boafled that ten of thofe bearded men 

Had vanifh'd from the fray ; 
His flint-head fhafts went merrily heme, 

As four hard hearts had felt 5 
And fix of the fialwart guards of Rome 

Had bow'd to the ftripling's celt- 
Young Mepati, come of the Comian flock, — 

Ha! look! they hem him round, 
And down is he hurl'd in the battle fhock, 

And trampled to the ground, — 



King Veric. 19 

But Veric has feen with his lightning eye, 

And ftruck as the bolt, goodfooth ! 
Like thundering Thor, with his hammer on high, 

He has faved the gallant youth ! 

But, woe ! for the foe had fmitten him fore - 3 

And eight deep wounds in his front 
With red lips fwore how well the boy bore 

That hideous battle brunt ; 
Proudly the monarch fmiled on the child, 

In his refcuing arms upborne, — 
But — all of his fon that Veric has won 

Is a corpfe by the tigers torn ! 

Then, deep as the ocean's diftant roar, 

The father gave a groan ; 
And the Attrebate king by his gods he fwore 

He mould not die alone ! 
Back on their haunches fwift he fiopp'd 

Thofe untamed fiery fteeds, — 
As an eagle down on the dovecote drcpp'd, 

Or a whirlwind in the reeds. 

And was it then that the monarch's life 

By the Waverley witch was charm'd ? 
The javelin fleet of that ftern ftrife 

Around him flew unharm'd ! 
And weary he cleft with his wedge of war 

The hundredth foreign brow, 
Before he would flee in his iron car, 

As he is fleeing now. 



20 King Veric. 

For lo ! to that falfe foe he has loft 

All that a king can lofe ; 
His veteran chiefs, his patriot hoft, 

Scatter' d as early dews : 
Treafon had wink'd at the Granger's gold, 

And faithlefs friends had fled, — 
And Mepati's felf — his darling bold — 

Alas ! that he is dead. 

He flies, as only a king may fly, 

In obftinate defpair, — 
On his hill-top high like a lion to die 

At bay in his own lair : 
And lo ! the black horfes are white with foam, 

Strong {training up the fteep, 
To carry the king to his ancient home, 

Yon far-feen caftle-keep ! 

But — woe upon woe ! for the wily foe 

Hath been before him there, 
And while the lion was prowling below, 

Hath fpoil'd the lion's lair 5 , 

Dead, dead and ftark, and fmear'd with gore, 

Beneath a fmouldering heap, 
Wife, daughters, and fons, and the grandfire hoar, 

On death's red allies fleep ! 

Then burft in agony, rage, and pain, 

That noble broken heart j 
And under his beetled brows like rain 

The fpouting tears did ftart : 



King Veric. 21 

And down like a pole-axed bull he drops, 

And weak on the threshold lies ; 
The wellfpring of life freezes and flops — 

He dies — the hero dies ! 

But, look ! a light on his royal brow, 

A ftrange prophetic flame — 
The fpirit of Vola over him now 

In folemn calmnefs came ; 
He faw the Gael at the gates of Rome, 

And carnage on the track, 
And Britain's fpoilers hurrying iiome 

To drive the terror back, — 

He faw in the midfl of his native plains 

Fair-lee's polluted hill, — 
Where Rome fo long fhould forge her chains 

To bind the Briton ftill, — 
He faw it ruin'd, and burnt, and bare j 

And — from one mite of gold, 
He faw a Saxon flranger there 

Read off this tale of old ! 




©ne among % $pU«ra. 



i. 

One among the million, fainting on the way, 
Stricken by the heat and the burden of the day, 
Look'd to me for comfort, as I heard him fay — 

" What am I but one among the million ? 

" Denfe are the crowds, and diffracting is the firife, 
A wreftle, and a buftle, and a battle to the knife ; 
Alas ! for the woefulnefs and wearinefs of life, 

To be but as one among the million ! 

" Everywhere a itruggle, and the ftruggle all for felf, 
The wickednefs of pleafure, or the worthleffnefs of pelf, 
While each Hands apart, thruft afide upon the fhelf, 
A folitary one among the million ! 

" A little wither'd grain amid the heap'd-up threfhing- 

floor, 
A leaf among the forefl, one leaf, and nothing more, 
A drop of the Atlantic, and a pebble on its more, 
A one fmall one among the million ! 



One among the Million. 23 

" Unprized in my good, and unpitied in my fin, 
With none to care for how I fare without me or within, 
The tide rufhes by, and it fluns me with its din — 
Oh, comfort one among the million !" 



11. 

One among the million ! gladly do I Hand 

To offer thee a brother's heart, and take a brother's 

hand 5 
Oh, there are thoufand thoufands left, Elijah's count- 

lefs band, 

To comfort all among the million ! 

Is it not a bleffednefs, that Christ hath bled for thee; 
A wondrous and a glorious thing that He a man 

could be, 
A man, and yet the God of men, to refcue thee and me, 
And die for all among the million ? 

And is it not a happy thought, that, on the other fide 
Of time, with all its worrying cares, and all its petty 

pride, 
For " every one that thirfleth " floweth Life's eternal 

tide 

Of joys for all among the million ? 

And is it not a gladnefs, that man, thy brother man, 
And woman's gentle fifterhood, and childhood, where 

it can, 
Are eager here to blefs thee, — tho' Mammon feems 

to ban — 

To blefs, yes, all among the million ? 



24 The Truth about Pity. 

Oh ! one among the million ! there are millions with 

thee flill, 
To lift thy load, and cheer thy heart, and help thee up 

this hill 5 
Go on, and God go with thee ! He can comfort thee, 

and will 3 

Ay, thee, and all among the million ! 



In fpite of adverfity, trouble, and fcorn, 

And all your philanthropy deems 
Wretched and ragged, and vile and forlorn, 
No fon of misfortune that ever was born 
Is really the wretch that he feems. 

The hardfhip your pity fo loudly bewails, 

Is lighter than fympathy dreams ; 
For habit makes eafy, and hope never fails, 
And other men's bitterer hardfliip avails 
To foo the a man more than it feems. 

Your fenfitive fpirit may feel that his fate 

With manifold mifery teems ; 
But either by patience thofe forrows abate, 
Or Dulnefs himfelf cannot fee that his ftate 

Is half fuch a wreck as it feems. 



Then look left your tendernefs, generous heart, 

So lavifh of liberal ftreams, 
By pity not only no comfort impart, 
But even may aggravate mifery's dart, 

By mowing how jagged it feems. 

No ! counfel religion, courageous content, 

And energy's dutiful fchemes, 
And how to take humbly the trial that's fent, 
And how to win Good, providentially meant 

In all that fo forrowful feems. 



Haste ! the poor old Earth is dying,- 
Do God fervice while you can 5 

Hafte ! too hurriedly is flying 
All this halcyon chance of man ; 

Hafte ! for Time may be no longer- 
All created yearnings tend 

In a rapid ever ftronger 
To that cataract, The End ! 

Lo ! the cycled years revolving 
Turn to their firfl goal again, — 

Every Sphinx-enigma folving, 
Every riddle reading plain 5 



26 Thefe Days. 



All things fpeak to man fublimely 

With Apocalyptic mouth, 
Nature's confummation timely 

Telling out from North to South. 

Yea, what privilege and gladnefs 

Dwell with modern men and things, 
Vainly waited for in fadnefs 

By old prophets and old kings : 
Children fee what fages doubted, 

Peafants know what patriarchs gueffed -, 
And the fword of Truth has routed 

Every lie from Eafl to Well. 

Ancient wrongs are being righted, — 

Ancient rights lift up their head ; 
Savage realms and tribes benighted 

Rife to life as from the dead; 
Ignorance is out of feafon, 

Wickednefs is glad to hide, — 
Nothing Hands but faith and reafon, 

Nothing falls but fin and pride. 

We, in days fo full and fleeting, 

Spend our lives on eagles' wings, 
Throng' d by marvels, marvels meeting, 

Flock' d about by wondrous things ; 
Every day the whole world's hiftory 

Spread out map-like ftirs the mind, 
Every day fome ripen' d myitery 

Stands confummate for mankind. 



Thefe Days. 27 



Nineveh with ghoftly menage 

Rifes from her mounded graves ; 
Polar Ice has clued the PafTage 

Winding through its hummock'd waves; 
Saurian monilers crawl before us,— 

Storms their whirling laws avow, — 
All Creation fhouts in chorus, 

" Nothing fhall be fecret now ! " 

Earth's forgotten waftes and corners, 

Peopled thick through gold broadcaft, 
Tell the fcoffers and the fcorners 

How fhe is ' fubdued ' at lafl : 
God commands 5 and nothing frees us 

Till that word we all obey, — 
Even China bows to Jesus, 

Even Africa doth pray. 

Ravel-ikeins of old beginnings 

Tapeftried around the Crofs, — 
And Creation's final winnings 

Well out-balancing her lofs, — 
All fubdued, and all repleniih'd, 

All things, fealing up the fum, 
Preach, how nearly, It is finifh'd, 

Tell how foon the Christ will come. 



\mxU lartost. 



How little we know of each other ! 

How lightly and loofely are known ! 
How feldom is brother with brother 

The fame that he is when alone -, 
Though relatives round a man gather, 

Though cordial he feem with his friend, 
Not even the child and its father 

As fpirit with fpirit can blend. 

The depths of a man are not founded, 

The heights of his thoughts are not feen, 
The breadth of his feelings unbounded 

Is veiFd by Society's fcreen 5 
We none of us heed what a greatnefs 

Is hidden away in the Heart 
That, mauVd in a well-bred fedatenefs, 

Is playing its company part. 

O Soul ! that in folitude yearneft 
For tenderer knowledge of friends, 

The intimate, honeft, and earner!:, 
Untainted by Self and its ends, — 



The Heart's Harveft. 29 

Alas ! for the lies of romances, 

And ftolid reality's truth ; 
Alas ! for the generous fancies 

That gladden'd a man in his youth ! 

Not here, where in fpirit thou ftarvefl, 

Athirft for the flagons of love, 
Not here — is the happy heart-harveft 

That gladdens the bleffed above-; 
In heavenly meads we may reap it, — 

But now the heart's garden is found 
With fcarcely one flower to keep it 

Mapp'd out from the wildernefs round! 

Thofe cf fpirits made perfect" in glory! 

I long their companion to be, 
That Love's ever muiical flory 

Be fung by thofe reapers — and me 5 
That Heart may difcover its treafures 

Unfearing,- to dear ones above, 
And all the full harvefl of pleafures 

Be reap'd by the Spirit of Love L 







Writer, whofoe'er thou art, 

Speaker, on whatever theme, 
Write and fpeak from heart to heart, 

Truly being what you feem 5 
Thoughts and words alone have power 

When they reach us quick and frefh, 
And the fpirit of the hour 

Turns thefe fiones to hearts of fleih. 



Living truth, that bubbles hot 

Like a Geyfer in the foul, 
Boils and fleams and flackens not 

Till it overflows its bowl ; 
Strongly runs the current then, 

Swiftly all the fluices fill, 
And the fwollen hearts of men 

Make a river to thy will. 

Who can wonder that in vain 

Scores of dullards preach for years, 

Lulling confcience to its bane 
Faft. afleep in hopes and fears ? 



Warmth. 3 1 



All is death : each foffil thought 
Word-embedded lies in clay, 

And no heart is touch' d or taught 
To feel, to tremble, or to pray. 

It is not eloquence, nor fkill, 

Nor any human power or art, 
That furely fways another's will, 

Controls his life and cheers his heart \ 
It is the frank and earneft plan 

Of fimple truth fincerely fpoken, 
That breaks the fpirit of a man, 

Or heals it up however broken. ' 

Seek then a living Warmth within 

To work with vital force without ; 
Drive from thee felfifhnefs and fin, 

And lure thy timorous graces out -, 
Then write or fpeak what impulfe wills, 

And no man fhall withfiand the power 
That from the lip of truth diftils 

In quicken' d feeling's thrilling hour. 



Happier under other fkies-, 

— So dreams man — 
Happier, link'd with other ties, 
Better, worthier, and more wife 

Were Life's plan : 

Anyhow but as things are, 

— So man dreams — 
Born beneath fome kindlier ftar 
Surely Life were nobler far 

Than now feems ! 

Moft of us are dreamers here, 

Wifhing a change ; 
Athirfi to fpice our common cheer, 
This, dull routine of daily fphere, 

With new and flrange. 

Moft are murmurers, kicking ftill 

Againft our lot -, 
Unbelieving God's wife will, 
That portions human good and ill, 

And favours not. 



Difcontent looks on, and longs, 

Envying other ; 
Counting up his fears and wrongs 
Each man covets what belongs 

To his brother ! 

Meantime, Duty's leaf and flower 

Both mull wither ; 
And, for Peace of Mind, — each hour 
Breeds its harpies to devour, 

Flapping hither ! 

Then does Life, fo vain at bell, 

Pine more weakly, 
Vampires draining it of reft, 
Where Contentment had been bleft 

Bearing meekly. 

Oh let be ! thy fate is fix'd, 

Call by Heaven 3 
Future, Pall, and all betwixt 
Is a chalice fhrewdly mixt, — 

Mull and leaven : 

Well fermented, weal and woe 

Make foul's wine, — 
And hereafter thou lhalt know 
How Life's bitter yeall below 

Doth reline. 

Earth may make thee talle her gall, 

Or drink it up ; 
But Heaven fhall make amends for all 
When thou doll keep high fellival 

At God's own cup. 

D 



Jl Straw cf f raa 

Never have regrets, brother, 

But for fake of fin $ 

The treacherous heart within 
All too foon forgets, brother, 
How it felt, and was, in thought, 
Acting out the thing it ought. 

All thy will was well, brother, 
Well didft thou deferve -, 
Circumftance might fwerve, 
But, the truth to tell, brother, 
Confequences none forefee 
Never need be cares to thee. 

Always for the bell, brother, 
Hourly haft thou ftriven 5 
Though to be forgiven, 

This fliall be thy tell, brother,— 

Did not honeft zeal obey 

Duty's impulfe every day ? 

What feem'd then fo right, brother, 

Let no cenfure now, 

No unkindly brow, 
Damage in thy light, brother ; 



■1 



A Maxim of Peace. 35 

Yellerday did what it could ; 
Scorn not thou its humbler good ! 

To thyfelf be true, brother 5 

Yield not to regret 5 

Nor thy fpirit fret 
To do, or to undo, brother, 
What is now beyond thy fkill 5 
Facts are fads, do what we will. 

Every Prefent feems, brother, 

Girt about with friends 5 

Every Future fends 
Glory to thy dreams, brother ; 
But we all condemn too fall 
The friendlefs and the hopelefs Pall. 

Scorn not what thou wall, brother, — 

Trull not what thou art ; 

Watch thy coward heart -, 
Look to that thou hall, brother ; 
Nothing is within thy power, 
But the fwiftly palling hour. 

Therefore do not fet, brother, 

Sorrow on the pall -, 

When the die is call 
Never nurfe regret, brother : 
Only for thy lin be fad, 
For all belide be wifely glad ! 



$amt 

I foraged all over this joy-dotted earth, 

To pick its beft nofegay of innocent mirth 

Tied up with the bands of its wifdom and worth, — 

And lo ! its chief treafure, 

Its innermofl pleafure, 

Was always at Home ! 

I went to the Palace, and there my fair Queen 
On the arm of Her Hufband did lovingly lean, 
And all the dear babes in their beauty were feen, 

In fpite of the fplendour, 

So happy and tender, 

For they were at Home ! 

I turn'd to the cottage, and there my poor hind 

Lay fick of a fever, — all meekly refign'd, 

For oh ! the good wife was fo cheerful and kind, 

In fpite of all matters, 

An angel in tatters, 

And me was at Home ! 

I afk'd a glad mother, jafl come from the pcft 
With a letter fhe kiffed from a far-away coaft, 
What heart-thrilling news had rejoiced her the moft- 



And — gladnefs for mourning ! 
Her boy was returning 

To love her — at Home ! 

I fpoke to the foldiers and failors at fea, 

Where beft in the world would they all of them be ? 

And hark ! how they earneftly fhouted to me, 

With iron hearts throbbing, 

And choking and fobbing, 
— Oh land us at Home ! 

I came to the defk where old Commerce grew gray, 
And aik'd him what help'd him. this many a day 
In his old fmoky room with his ledger to flay ? 

And it all was the beauty, 

The comfort and duty, 

That cheer'd him at Home ! 

I ran to the court, where the fages of law 

Were wrangling and jangling at quibble and flaw,- — 

Oh wondrous to me was the ftrife that I faw! 

But all that fierce riot 

Was calm'd by the quiet 

That bleft them at Home ! 

I call'd on the fchool-boy, poor love-flricken lad, 

Who yearn'd in his lonelinefs, filent and fad, 

For the days when again he fhould laugh and be glad 

With his father and mother, 

And fifter and brother, 
All happy at Home ! 



I tapp'd at the door of the year-ftricken Eld, 

"Where age, as I thought, had old memories quell' d, — 

But Hill all his garrulous fancies outwell'd 

Strange old-fafhion'd flories 

Of pleafures and glories 

That once were at Home ! 

I whifper'd the prodigal, wanton and wild, 

— How changed from the heart that you had when a 

child, 
So teachable, noble, and modeft, and mild ! — 
Though Sin had undone him, 
Thank God that I won him, 
By looking at Home ! 

And then, when he wept and he vow'd better life, 
I haften'd to fnatch him from peril and flrife, 
By finding him wifely a tender young Wife, — 

Whofe love Ihould allure him, 

And gently fecure him 
A convert at Home ! 

So he that had raced after pleafure fo fall, 
And ftill as he ran had its goal overpaft, 
Found happinefs, honour, and bleffing at laft 

In all the kind dealings, 

Affections and feelings, 
That ripen at Home ! 



funmn %\lt 
i. 

By the wafte of toil and treafure 

For fo flender gains, — 
By the poor amount of pleafure 

Bought of many pains, — 
By the hopes and fears unceafing 

Both in turn put out, — 
By the worries iiill increafing 

With their rabble rout, — 
Human Life, thou robe of NefTus ! 

We are clad in cares $ 
And the very joys that blefs us 

Are but fnakes and fnares -, 
And the troubles and the trials, 

Somehow wifely fent, 
Seem to us pernicious vials 

Pour'd in punifhment ! 

11. 

By each vaft anticipation 

And its meagre fact, — 
By fo flight appreciation 

Of each generous a6t, — 



40 Human Life. 



By the coldnefs and the meannefs 

In too many found,-— 
By the hard unkindly keennefs 

Watching all around, — 
Human Life, thou face of Gorgon ! 

We are harden' d up, 
And each fympathetic organ 

Freezes at thy cup, 
And affection's purer! feeling 

Curdles into gall, 
And Religion's touch of healing . 

Does not fweeten all. 



in. 

By the Pall, — a word of fadnefs 

Wet with iilly tears , 
By the Prefent, — promifed gladnefs 

Cheating us for years 5 
By the Future, — dread enigma, 

Who ihall guefs its truth ? 
By Fame's breath, and Slander's ftigma 

Vexing Age and Youth 5 — 
Human Life, O bitter fweetnefs, 

Chequer' d white and black, — 
Yet doll thou achieve the meetnefs 

Which thy children lack 5 
Whatfoe'er the wind or weather, 

Joy it is to tell 
All things work for good together 

And lhall yet be well ! 



Night -fail in the Race of Alderney. 41 



IV. 

By the thoufand tints of Beauty 

Dropt on every fide, — 
By the magic thought of Duty 

Whatfoe'er betide, — 
By the mercies yet about us 

Little underftood, 
By all elfe within, without us, 

Miniftering good, — 
Human Life ! O wondrous ftory ! 

Full of light and fhade, 
Soon ihalt thou be lit with glory 

That can never fade j 
Soon Affection and Ambition 

Shall be fully blown, 
And Our Life achieve its million 

On a Royal Throne ! 



% P#-sail m t\t |to ai Jitoneg- 



& 



Sprinkled thick with mining fluds, 
Stretches wide the tent of heaven, 
Blue, begemm'd with golden buds, — 

Calm, and bright, and deep, and clear, 
Glory's hollow hemifphere 
Arch'd above thefe frothing floods, 
Right and left afnnder riven, 



42 Night -fail in the Race of Alderney. 

As our cutter madly feuds, 

By the fitful breezes driven, 
When exultingly me fweeps 
Like a dolphin through the deeps, 
And from wave to wave me leaps, 

Rolling in this yeafty leaven, — 
Ragingly that never fleeps, 

Like the wicked unforgiven ! 



ii. 

Midnight, foft and fair above, 

Midnight, fierce and dark beneath,- 
AU on high the fmile of love, 

All below the frown of death : 
Waves that whirl in angry fpite 
With a phofphorefcent light 
Gleaming ghaftly on the night, — 

Like the pallid fneer of Doom, 
So malicious, cold, and white, 

Luring to this watery tomb, 
Where in fury and in fright 
Winds and waves together fight 

Hideoufly amid the gloom, — 
As our cutter gladly feuds, 

Dipping deep her iheeted boom 
Madly to the boiling fea, 
Lighted in thefe furious floods 
By that blaze of brilliant ftuds, 
Gliflening down like glory-buds 
On the Race of Alderney ! 



$m Jsntassi. 

(the solace of soxg.) 



Ever babbling, ever bubbling, 

Bright as light and calmly clear, 
Cure for every trial troubling, 
Solace ever new and near, 

Fons Parnafli ! free and flowing, 
Fons Parnafh ! glad and glowing, 
Rarefied creative pleafure ! 

Oh ! they lie who say that Seng 
Is a merely graceful meafure, 
Jutt a luxury of leifure : 

Not an anthem fweet and ftrong 
Rich in fpiritual treafure 

That to Seraphs might belong, — 
Not a tender confolation 

All the cares of life among. 
Not the balm of broad creation 

In this maze of right and wrong, — 
Not the fecret foul's diftilling, 
Every nerve and fibre filling 
With intenfe ecftatic thrilling, — 

Evoe ! Fons Parnafli, 
Fons ebrie Parnafli ! 



44 Fons ParnaJJi. 



ii. 

Ah ! thou fairy fount of fweetnefs, 

Well I wot how dear thou art 
In thy purity and meetnefs 
To my hot and thirfty heart, 
When, with fympathetic fleetnefs, 

I have raced from thought to thought, 
And, array' d in maiden neatnefs, 
By her natural tafte well taught, 
Thy young Naiad, thy Pieria, 
My melodious Egeria, 
Winfomely finds out my fancies 

Frank as Sappho, as unfought, — 
And with innocent wife-like glances 
Clofe befide my fpirit dances, 

As a lifter Ariel ought, — 
Tripping at her wanton will, 
With unpremeditated fkill, 
Like a guiliing mountain rill, 
Or a bright Bacchante, reeling 
Through the flights of thought and feeling, 
Half concealing, half revealing 
Whatfoe'er of fpirit's fire, 
Beauty kindling with defire, 
Can be caught in Word's attire ! 

Evoe ! Fons Parnaffi, 
Fons ebrie Parnaffi. 



^felting ^|artol]fiti5e. 

A shadow, a vapour, a tale that is told, — 

Ah ! where is the figure fo true 
As juftly to picture my bygones of old 

Uprifing in dreamy review ? 
Thofe dim recollections, fepulchral and cold, 

Old feelings bedimm'd by the new, 
As over thefe hill-tops are miftily roll'd 

Thofe ghofi-looking columns of dew ! 

I went to the place that had known me of yore, 

To fee its familiar face ; 
And mournfully flood, — for it knew me no more 3 

All flrange did I ftand in that place ! 
And it feem'd as if Hades had render' d its dead 

When, lefs by the light than the found, 
At the hint of a voice, in a fnow-fprinkled head 

Some fchool-fellow's features I found. 

O changes in feeling ! O chances of life ! 

O mercies, and perils, and fears ! 
What ages of trial, and travail, and flrife, 

Have fped fince thofe holiday years ! 



46 Revijiting Charterhoufe. 

In half-drowning virion, as feen in a glafs, 

On a fudden the forrows and joys 
Of twenty long winters all hurriedly pafs, 

And, lock ! for once more we are boys. 

Yet here, like the remnant of fome gallant crew 

Juft fnatch'd from the deep in the dark, 
We gaze on each other, a florin-batter' d few 

Adrift on a perilous bark ! 
And mournful as Life, and myfterious as Death, 

Our common-place converfe is heard, 
For we feel as we fpeak that we live in a breath, 

And haply might die in a word ! 

And feelings are fickle, — and riches have wings, 

And nothing is Heady or fure, 
And even affections are changeable things, 

And — where can a heart be fecure ? 
All ! clouded and dreary, and folemn, and frill, 

And as by fome nightmare oppreft,— 
Come, heart ! break away from this choke and this 
chill, 

In God and thyfelf ever bleft. 



gl'ato' s IbUennt. 



Away with falfe fafhion, fo calm and fo chill, 

Where pleafure itfelf cannot pleafe ; 
Away with cold breeding, that faithleflly Hill 

Affects to be quite at its eafe 5 
For the deepeft in feeling is higher!: in rank, 

The freefj: is firfl of the band, 
And Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, 

Is a man with his heart in his hand ! 

Fearlefs in honefty, gentle yet juft, 

He warmly can love, — and can hate ; 
Nor will he bow down with his face in the dud 

To Fafhion's intolerant ftate : 
For beft in good breeding, and highefl in rank, 

Though lowly or poor in the land, 
Is Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, 

The man with his heart in his hand ! 

His faihion is paflion, fincere and intenfe, 

His impulfes iimple and true, 
Yet temper' d by judgment, and taught by goodfenfe, 

And cordial with me, and with you : 
For the fmeit in manners, as highefl in rank, 

It is you, man ! or you, man ! who Hand 
Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, — 

A man with his heart in his hand ! 



$tkt iiiie it$ !. 



Never give up ! it is wifer and better 

Always to hope, than once to defpair ; 
Fling off the load of Doubt's heavy fetter, 

And break the dark fpell of tyrannical Care : 
Never give up ! or the burthen may link you, — 

Providence kindly has mingled the cup, 
And in all trials or troubles, bethink you, 

The watchword of life mult be, Never give up ! 

Never give up ! there are chances and changes 

Helping the hopeful a hundred to one, 
And through the chaos High Wifdom arranges 

Ever fuccefs, — if you'll only hope on : 
Never give up ! for the wifelt is boldeft, 

Knowing that Providence mingles the cup, 
And of all maxims the bell, as the oldelt, 

Is the true watchword of Never give up ! 

Never give up ! — -though the grape-fhot may rattle, 

Or the full thunder-cloud over you burft, 
Stand like a rock, — and the Itorm or the battle 

Little fhall harm you, though doing their worll : 
Never give up ! — if adverlity preffes, 

Providence wifely has mingled the cup, 
And the bell counfel, in all your diftrefTes, 

Is the flout watchword of Never give up ! 



All-beauteous Lady Arabell 

Glanced fcornfully alide, — 
Alas ! for he hath loved her well, 

In fpite of all her pride ; 
Yet coldly to that noble heart 

In all its glowing youth, 
Away ! fhe cried, — and fpurn'd afide 

Its tendernefs and truth. 

Away ! — and at her feet he fell 

As cold and white as ftone ! 
And heartlefs Lady Arabell 

Has left him all alone : 
Alone, to live ? alone, to die ? 

Alone ? — Yet who art thou, — 
Some guardian angel from the Iky 

To blefs and aid him now ? 

Ah ! Florence loves young Cecil well, 

And pines this many a day, — 
For ftar-eyed lifter Arabell 

Hath won his heart away, — 
Hath won it all by treacherous arts 

To fling it all alide, 
And break a pair of loving hearts 

For triumph and for pride S 

E 



50 The Way of the World. 

Fair Florence with her eyes of blue 

And locks of golden light j 
Dark Arabell's of raven hue 

With flafhing orbs of night 5 
And has young Cecil chofen well 

Between that lifter pair, 
The proud and brilliant Arabell 

Or gentle Florence fair ? 

O bitter morn ! O bleffed morn ! 

For lo, he turns to love 
No more that raven queen of fcorn, 

But this fweet lifter dove : 
In fpite of luftrous Arabell 

And all her envious pride, 
Young Cecil loves his Florence well, 

And — Florence is his bride. 



%\t Wm at % ftgorl*. 

Oh ! but it 's war to the knife, man ! 
Selfilh and defperate ftrife, man ! 

Nothing will ferve 

But refolute nerve 
To battle the battle of life, man ! 

What do they care for your cares, man ? 
What are your troubles to theirs, man ? 

Nobody heeds 

How the heart bleeds, 
Nor how a poor fellow fares, man. 



The Way of the World. 5 1 

Each for himfelf is the thought, man ; 
All the world elle is as nought, man : 

Each has his fill 

Of fighting up-hill, 
And fiercely the battle is fought, man ! 

Yes, — you may do good or ill, man, 
Battle as well as you will, man, 

Nobody cares, — 

Nobody's pray'rs 
Help in this battle up-hill, man ! 

Wrapt in a mantle of pride, man, 
Standing aloof and afide, man, 

Each one alone 

Hunts for his own, 
Cold as the world and as wide, man ! 

Ay, it is bitter to think, man, 

That you may fwim or you may link, man, 

With the world's glance 

Coldly alkance 
Watching you over the brink, man ! 

Everything's thrown on the fhelf, man, 
Other than pleaiure or pelf, man ! 

Be what you may, 

You 're clean flung away 
If you cannot ferve the worlds' Jelf, man ! 



draragt ! 



Dangers do but dare me, 
Terrors cannot fcare me, 
God my guide/ I'll bear me 

Manfully for ever, — 
Trouble's darkeft hour 
Shall not make me cower 
To the Spectre's power, — 

Never, never, never ! 

Up, my heart, and brace thee, 
While the perils face thee, 
In thyfelf encafe thee 

Manfully for ever, — 
Foes may howl around me, 
Fears may hunt and hound me,- 
Shall their yells confound me ? 

Never, never, never ! 

Conftant, calm, unfearing, 

Boldly perfevering, 

In good confcience fleering 

Manfully for ever, — 
Winds and waves defying, 
And on God relying, 
Shall He find me flying ? 

Never, never, never ! 



I 



( 53 ) 



White-lipp'd fneerer, well I wot 

How you loathe the great and wife, 
How his brightnefs is a blot 

On your thunder-mantled fkies 5 
How his fame and good men's love 

Make him hateful in your eyes, 
And when thus he foars above, 

How you ache to fee him rife ! 

O you feeming friend, found out, 

In detraction is your blifs, — 
Whifpering petty blame about, 

With a fubtle ferpent's hifs 5 
Lo, the great man fcorns it all ; 

Lo, the wife man makes it mifs : 
Lo, the good man greets your gall 

With a kind forgiving kifs ! 

Brothers ! who have nobly earn'd 

Thanks and praife at leaft from man, 
If your good with fcorn is fpurn'd, 

And your bleffing met by ban, 
Brothers ! heed we not their hate 

Who would harm but never can, — 
With the wife, the good, the great, 

Let us conquer in the van ! 



Upon a flumbering lake at night 
The moon looks down in love, 

And there in chaften'd beauty bright 

A lifter fphere of lilver light 
Seems bathing from above. 

Anon, an evil man comes near, 

And a rude Hone he flings, 
Half in hate and half in fear, 
To crulh the calm accuiing fphere 

That looks fuch lovely things. 

He flung, and ftruck ; and in fwift race 

Round ran the Itartled waves -, 
He triumph' d for a little fpace 5 
But fee ! how foon that fame calm face 
Again her beauty laves. 

So, friend, if envy hits thy name, 

Be Hill, it palfes foon ; 
Thy lamp is burning all the fame, 
And, even for that moonlhine Fame, 

It mull reflect its Moon. 



SeK-fosstnhnt. 

Whirling, eddying, ebbing Prefent, 

Foamy tide of flrife and noife, 
Mingled-bitter, mingled-pleafant, 

Loves and worries, cares and joys, — 
O ye changing chancing furges ! 

Calmly doth my Mind forecait 
How your reftlefs fpirit merges 

In the Future and the Pail! 

Lo, I ftand your mailer-pilot j 

Though the cataracts be near, 
Safe I fwing round rock or iflet, 

Strong and ilill, and god-like Here ! 
Stout I itand, and fway the tiller 

Through thefe rapids glancing down, 
While the very flood flows fuller, 

Frozen by my monarch -frown ! 

O'er the rock-entangled fhallows 

Staunch I fleer, adown the ftream ; 
And the Pail the Prefent hallows 

With its melancholy dream,— 
And the Future, nearing furely 

Like Niagara's cliff ahead, 
Steadily I reach, fecurely 

As a child that feels no dread ! 



56 Complaint of an Ancient Briton. 

Yea, though Earth be torn afunder, — 

Or the fecret heart be vext, — 
Though with elemental thunder 

Or by petty cares perplext, 
Still I Hand, and rule the riot ; 

Still my deep calm foul is blefl 
With its own imperial quiet, 

The mblimity of Reft ! 

For, a Haunch and flalwarth true man, 

Fearing God, and none befide, — 
Nothing more, nor lefs, than human, 

Nothing human can betide 
That may difenthrone a ipirit 

Doom'd to reign in Time's decay, 
Grandly fated to inherit 

Endlefs peace in endlefs Day ! 



%\t tejjlaint aim Jtoricttt §nfon, 

DISINTERRED BY ARCH^OLOGISTS. 

Two thoufand years agone 
They heap'd my battle-grave, 

And each a tear and each a Hone 
My mourning warriors gave -, 



Complaint of an Ancient Briton. $j 

For I had borne me well, 

And fought as patriots fight. 
Till, like a Britifli chief, I fell 

Contending for the right. 
Seam'd with many a wound, 

All weakly did I lie 5 
My foes were dead or dying round, — 

And thus I joy'd to die ! 
For their marauding crew 

Came treacherouily to kill, — 
The many came againft the few 

To rtorm our fa ere d hill. 
We battled, and we bled, 

We won, and paid the price, 
For I, the chief, lay down with the dead 

A willing facrifice ! 
My liegemen wail'd me long, 

And treafured up my bones, 
And rear'd my kid fecure and ftrong 

With tributary (tones : 
High on the breezy down, 

My native hill's own breaft, 
Nigh to the din of mine ancient town, 

They left me to my reft. 
I hoped for peace and calm 

Until my judgment hour, 
And then to awake for the victor's palm 

And patriot's throne of power ! 
And lo ! till this dark day 

Did men my grave revere ; 
Two thoufand years had pofted away, 

And ftill I flumber'd here : 



58 Complaint of an Ancient Briton. 

But now there broke a noife 

Upon my lilent home, 
'Twas not the Refurrection voice 

That burft my turfy tomb, — = 
But men of prying mind, 

Alas, my fellow men, 
Ravage my grave, my bones to find, 

With facrilegious ken ! 
Mine honour doth abjure 

Your new barbarian race $ 
Reftore, reftore my bones fecure 

To fome more facred place ! 
With mattock and with fpade 

Ye dare to break my reft $ 
The pious mound is all unmade 

My clan had counted bleft ; 
Take, take my buckler's bofs, 

My fword, and fpe'ar, and chain, — 
Steal all you can of this world's drofs, 



But — reft my bones again 



I know your modern boaft 

Is light, and learning's fpread, — 

Learn of a Celt to Ihow them moft 
In honour to the Dead ! 



Many a day have I wiled away 

Upon hopeful Farley Heath, 
In its antique foil digging for fpoil 

Of poflible treafure beneath -, 
For celts, and querns, and funereal urns, 

And rich red Samian ware, 
And fculptured Hones and centurions' bones 

May all lie buried there ! 

How calmly ferene, and glad have I been 

From morn till eve to ltay, 
My men, no ferfs, turning the turfs 

The happy livelong day 3 
With eye' Hill bright, and hope yet alight, 

Willfully watching the mould, 
As the fpade brings up fragments of things 

Fifteen centuries old ! 

Pleafant and rare it was to be there 

On a joyous day of June, 
With the circling fcene all gay and green 

Steep'd in the lilent noon; 
When beauty diftils from the calm glad hills,- 

From the downs and dimpling vales 5 
And every grove, lazy with love, 

Whifpereth tendered tales ! 



O then to look back upon Time's old track, 

And dream of the days long pa ft, 
When Rome leant here on his fentinel fpear 

And loud was the clarion's blaft — 
As wild and fhrill from Martyrs' Hill 

Echoed the patriot fhout, 
Or rufh'd pell-mell with a midnight yell 

The rude barbarian rout ! 

Yes 3 every flone has a tale of its own, 

A volume of old lore 5 
And this white fand from many a brand 

Has polifTi'd gouts of gore ; 
When Holmbury-height had its beacon light, 

And Cantii held old Leith, 
And Rome Hood then with his iron men 

On ancient Farley Heath ! 

How many a group of that exiled troop 

Have here fung fongs of home, 
Chanting aloud to a wondering crowd 

The glories of old Rome ! 
Or lying at length have bafk'd their ftrength 

Amid this heather and gorfe, 
Or down by the well in the larch-grown dell 

Water' d the black war-horfe ! 

Look, look ! my day-dream right ready would feem 
The paft with the prefent to join, — 

For fee ! I have found in this rare ground 
An eloquent green old coin, 



Farley Heath. 61 



With turquoife raft on its Emperor's buft — 

Some Caefar, auguft Lord, 
And the legend terfe, and the claftic reverfe, 

" Victory, valour's reward !"— 

Victory — yes ! and happinefs, 

Kind comrade, to me and to you, 
When fuch rich fpoil has crown' d our toil 

And proved the day-dream true ; 
With hearty acclaim how we hail'd by his name 

The Caefar of that coin, 
And told with a ihout his titles out, 

And drank his health in wine ! 



And then how bleft the noon-day reft 

Reclin'd on a grafly bank, 
With hungry cheer and the brave old beer, 

Better than Odin drank -, 
And the fecret balm of the fpirit at calm, 

And poetry, hope, and health, — 
Ay, have I not found in that rare ground 

A mine of more than wealth ! 



Si ftatjja's, 

NEAR GUILDFORD, SURREY. 

Holy precinct, mount of God, 
Where faints have bled and pilgrims trod, 
Martyrs' Hill — thy nobler name, 
Martyrs' Hill — thy fairer fame 
Than as call'd of her, whofe heart 
Chofe but late that better part, — 
Unto thee my praife I bring, 
Thee my foul delights to ling. 

Lo, the glorious landfcape round ! 
Tread we not enchanted ground ? 
From this bold and breezy height 
The charm' d eye fends its eagle flight 
O'er the panoramic fcene, 
Undulating, rich, and green 3 
And with various pleafure roves 
From hill and dale, to fields and groves, 
Till the profpe£t mingling grey 
With the horizon fades away, 
Shutting in the diftant view 
By fainter lines of glimmering blue. 
Start we from the warm Soulh-Eaft; 
Spread the fine pictorial feaft: 



There the landmark tower of Leith 
Sentinels its purple heath 5 
Nearer, Holmbury's moated hill, 
Highden-ball, and Ewhurft mill, 
Dewy Hafcomb's fir-fring'd knoll, 
Hind-head, and the Devil's Bowl, 
With peeps of far South-downs between 
Seaward doling up the fcene. 

Like a thunder-cloud, beneath 
Stretches drear the broad Blackheath : 
Scatter' d coins have feal'd the fod 
A claffic lite that Rome has trod, 
Field of many a defperate ftrife 
For conquer!:, liberty, or life, 
When the legion's fullen tramp 
Echoed oft from Farley-camp, 
And fome Caefar's ruthlefs fword 
Reap'd the rude barbarian horde, 
Britons, patriots, free brave men, 
But untkill'd to conquer — then. 

Turn w r e to this woodland made, 
Beyond the Hanger's hazel glade : 
Ah ! 'tis fad, though little llrange, 
That times, and things, and men fhould change 3 
Sad, though little llrange to fee 
Albury, fuch fad change in thee. 
Thou wert in my infant dreams, 
My childiln pranks, my fchool-day fchemes ; 
My heart's young home, my pride and praife j 
Playground of my boyilh days ; 



64 St. Marthas. 



Link'd with learning, goodnefs, truth, 

To the flory of my youth; 

Mix'd with hope's romantic plan, 

And loved, — now years have made me man. 

But, the brightnefs of thy praife 

Periih'd with thofe early days, — 

Thy fweet prime, too fair to laft, 

Spring-like came, and fmiled, and paft j 

And I note, adown the Vale, 

Thy good angel wandering pale, 

With folded wing and tearful eye 

Mourning for the days gone by 5 

Now, like lome white wounded deer 

Hiding in the greenwood here 5 

Now, befide that old church, faint 

Leaning, like a dying faint. 



Away : regard we yet again 
Nature's beauty, — and her bane : 
Alas ! that man fhould e'er intrude 
Where all but he are glad and good, — 
Alas, for yonder fairy glen, 
Nature's Eden, vex'd with men ! 
Mammon, from thofe long white mills 
With foggy fteam the profpe6t fills ; 
Chimneys red with fulphurous fmoke 
Blight thefe hanging groves of oak 5 
And fy Ivan Quiet's gentle fcenes 
Lift — to the clatter of machines. 
Yet more ; in yonder rural dell, 
Where fy lphs and fauns might love to dwell, 



St. Martha s. 65 



Among thofe alders, by the flream 
Stealing on with filver gleam, 
Blacken'd huts, fet wide apart, 
Grind their dark grain for murder's mart, 
Or, burlting with explofive might, 
Rage, and roar, and blaft, and blight- 
Enough, enough of toilfome Art ;. 
Frefh fweet Nature woos thy heart :. 
Gaze, then, on this weflern plain, 
A woody, various, rich champaign j 
Each in its hollow neftling down, 
The farm, the village, or the town j 
Field on field, and grove on grove, 
Wave-like, far as eye can rove, 
Till interfering lines of hill 
The blue horizon faintly fill. 

And, while thy fpirit praifes Earth, 
Its precious gifts, its wealth and worth, 
Forget not thou this glorious Sky, 
Oh ! lift thine eyes, thy heart on high ; 
Forget not Him, whofe mercy gave 
All the good we hope, or have 5 
Him, whofe Prefence, far and near, 
Man's beft wifdom learns to fear 
Where above the green glad world 
Heaven's banners float unfurl* d, 
Gorgeous in each mighty fold 
Bathed in black, or fringed with gold ; 
Or, as clouds of fleecy white 
Sail in feas of azure light ; 

F 



66 St. Marthas. 



Or, as ftreamers hurrying by 
Tell of tempefts in the Sky ; 
Or, like fnow-clad mountains, fland 
Giant wardens of the Land. 

Earthward once again ; the North ! 
Draw its good, its evil forth : 
Mile beyond mile of waving field, 
Rare to fee, and rich to yield ; 
The frequent village round its fpire 3 
The fnug domain of rural fquire ; 
Yon dulky tracl: of Wafte and Mofs ; 
That iron roadway drawn acrofs 5 
Windfor, throned o'er half the land ; 
And gambling Epfom's far-famed Stand ; 
While the dim diftance in a fhroud 
Is wrapp'd by London's fmoky cloud. 

Near us, Guildford's ancient town 
Between the hills is hiding down ; 
Decent Guildford, clean and fteep, 
Ranged about its caftle-keep, 
Relic of departed power, 
Grey and crumbling fquare old tower. 
Like fome warder at his poft 
Honefl: Booker's lofty boafi, 
Fine and feudal, fhames outright 
Pewley's telegraphic height, 
While it overtops with pride 
All the vaifal fcene befide, 
And, above that verdant fvvell, 
Sainted Catharine's Gothic cell. 



Wefhvard thence, a narrow track, 
Stretches far the bare Hog's-back : 
Ridging up, with hilly fides, 
Lo, the briftling boar divides 
Right and left a kindred fcene, 
Purple moors and meadows green, 
Or thofe feeming-vineyards wide, 
Farnham's wealth, and Surrey's pride. 



Forth from Merrow's happy plain 
And noble Clandon's rich domain, 
Newland's heights, and Combe beyond, 
And nutty Sherborne's cryflal pond, 
Eaftward to the landfcape's end 
The Hoping chalky Downs extend, 
Primal Hill, by man untamed, 
Frefh, unbounded, unreclaim'd • 
Now a lawn of herbage fweet 
Smooth as velvet to the feet, 
Now a jungle, matted denfe, 
A wildernefs of briar-fence : 
Here, an earthwork, fofTe and mound ; 
There, a race-courfe curving round ; 
Hollow'd pits, where in old times 
Bad marauders hid their crimes : 
Sad fepulchral groves of yew 
Solemn ranged in order due, 
Seeming of primeval birth, 
Solid as the ribs of earth, 
Where white Druids, years of yore, 
Roam'd thofe myftic circles o'er, 



68 St. Marthas. 



Or calm kneeling on the fod 
Wifely worfhipp'd Nature's God. 

Yes, modern ; would thy pride condemn 

Or mail thy wifdom pity them ? 

They built no prifons for — the poor, 

Freely fed from door to door 5 

Their foolifh mercy did not flrive 

To give the leafl that keeps alive, 

Their charity fought not to know 

How little poor men need below. 

But thou, — what means yon human pound, 

Brick'd and barr'd, and well wall'd round ? 

But that to thy fliame and fcorn 

Penal poverty may mourn 

How ill-chriflen'd liberals prove 

Words by deeds, and faith by love : 

For here, unpitied, Ipurn'd, alone, 

The Britifh Have muft grind and groan, 

Torn from children, friends, and wife, 

And buried in the midft of life. 

O Man ! thy love is chill and small ; 

O Nature ! thou art kind to all : 

This full wide theatre of views 

Bathed in Autumn's rainbow hues 

Recreates my frefhen'd fight 

Soft with made, and rich with light, 

And, faved from thoughts of pride and pelf, 

Reftores me to my cheerful felf. 

Let then a lateborn fon of Time 
Shadow forth the Paft fublime, 



St. Marthas. 69 



And while, the greenfward laid along, 
He weaves his meditative fong, 
Tell what various tribes have trod 
With various hopes this ancient fod. 
The painted Briton, long of yore, 
Hunting down the wolf or boar ; 
The Roman watcher, polled here 
Leaning on his iron fpear 5 
The fair-hair'd Angle, piling high 
Beacon-fires againft the Iky ; 
With vulture-eyes the hungry Dane 
Gloating o'er the fertile plain 3 
Patriot Saxons, who with flood 
The Norman, conquering for good ; 
Monks, to blefs with book and bell ; 
Crufaders, bidding all farewell 5 
Footfore Pilgrims, hither come 
Midway from St. Becket's tomb 3 
Roundheads, chanting rebel prayers ; 
Gay, devoted Cavaliers ; 
Ruftics, on the Sabbath-day 
Duly toiling up to pray 5 
Mourners, weeping round the bier 
Brought for humble burial here ; 
And thoufands more, in dretTes quaint, 
Than tongue can tell, or pencil paint, 
Have laugh'd, or wept, or fought their fill, 
Or lived, or died, on Martyrs' Hill. 



Martyrs' Hill! — before my mind 
Rife the triumphs of Mankind ! 



jo St. Martha s. 



Martyrs' Hill ! — and to my thought 

Back the crimes of men are brought : 

Yea : for on this facred fod 

Doubtlefs periih'd faints of God, 

And Elijah's chariot came 

Mingling with the martyrs' flame, 

To bear them from that aweftruck crowd 

In robes of light, on thrones of cloud. 

Then, the feed of holy blood 
Gave its hundredfold of good -, 
Barbarians heard, and thought, and felt, 
Glow'd, admired, and mourn' d, and knelt j 
Their very murderers came in fear 
To blefs the fainted victims here ; 
Penitent, with zealous hafte 
Aloft the ruftic temple placed, 
Keylefs arches, rough and round, 
Spanning high the blood-ftain'd ground, 
Of iron fandftone rudely built, 
Memorial of their grief — and guilt. 

Thereafter, Newark's princely priefl 

Added all this Gothic Eaft, — 

The modeft choir and tranfepts twain, 

Fitting well the Chriflian fane, 

Windows, deck'd in colours rich, 

The pointed arch and florid niche,— 

Contrail to yon Saxon nave, 

That limply mark'd the martyr's grave. 



Swept along Fate's rolling tide 
Generations lived, and died, 



St. Martha s. j i 



Thronging in fucceflion there 

With the facrifice of prayer : 

And a Martha's dubious name 

Half eclipfed that better fame, 

Symbol of degenerate years 

When earth ufurps our hopes and fears. 

Ages came and ages pari ; 

Till the flood of Time at laft 

Wafted on the modern race, 

Loving gain, and hating grace : 

So we draw to thy decay 

Silent ruin of to-day, 

An evil day of evil deeds, 

Selfifh fects and wrangling creeds, 

When faith is dead, and zeal grown cold, 

And churches can be bought and fold, 

Or left a prey to rot and rain, 

For lack of grace, and luft of gain. 



Ruin, I have loved thee long, 
And owed for years this humble fong ; 
While I pay the grateful debt, 
Hear me one petition yet. 
When in God's good time and way, 
I wake upon my dying day, 
Should I mil beneath thee dwell, 
As my fpirit lighs farewell, 
Let the fhadows from thy wall 
Be my hallow'd funeral pall 3 
Let no city's clofe churchyard 
Steal from thee thy native bard 5 



But where now I careleis lie 
Make me welcome when I die : 
On this thyme-enamell'd height 
Let me bid the world good-night 5 
Sacred to my memory be 
All the fcene that circles thee ; 
And plant o'er me, in goodwill, 
A plain flone crofs on Martyrs' Hill. 



" A little more fleep, a little more flumber, 

A little more folding the hands to fleep," 
For quick-footed dreams, without order or number, 

Over my mind are beginning to creep, — 
Rare is the happinefs thus to be raptured 

By your wild whifpers, my Fanciful train, 
And, like a linnet, be careleffly captured 

In the foft nets of my beautiful brain. 

Touch not thefe curtains ! — your hand will be tearing 

Delicate tiffues of thoughts and of things 5 — 
Call me not ! — your cruel voice will be fearing 

Flocks of young vi lions on goffamer wings : 
Leave me, O leave me ! for in your rude prefence 

Nothing of all my bright world can remain, — 
Tiaou art a blight to this garden of pleafance, 

Thou art a blot on my beautiful brain ! 



Ceafe your dull lecture on cares and employment, 

Let me forget awhile trouble and flrife, 
Leave me to peace, — let me hufband enjoyment, 

This is the heart and the marrow of life ! 
For to my feeling the choicer! of pleafures 

Is to lie thus, without peril or pain, 
Lazily liftening the mufical meafures 

Of the fweet voice in my beautiful brain ! 

Hum, — for the halo of calmnefs is fpreading 

Over my fpirit as mild as a dove ; 
Hufh, — for the angel of comfort is ihedding 

Over my body his vial of love ; 
Hufh, — for new flumbers are over me Healing, 

Thus would I court them again and again, 
Hufh, — for my heart is intoxicate, — reeling 

In the fwift waltz of my beautiful brain ! 



Open the cafement, and up with the Sun ! 
His gallant journey is juft begun 5 
Over the hills his chariot is roll'd, 
Banner'd with glory, and burnifh'd with gold, 
Over the hills he comes fublime, 
Bridegroom of Earth, and brother of Time ! 



Day hath broken, joyous and fair ; 
Fragrant and frefh is the morning air, — 
Beauteous and bright thofe orient hues, 
Balmy and fweet thefe early dews j 
Oh, there is health, and wealth, and blifs 
In dawning Nature's motherly kifs ! 

Lo, the wondering world awakes, 

"With its rofy-tipp'd mountains and gleaming lakes, 

With its fields and cities, deferts and trees, 

Its calm old cliffs, and its founding feas, 

In all their gratitude blefling Him 

Who dwelleth between the Cherubim ! 

Break away boldly from Sleep's leaden chain 3 

Seek not to forge that fetter again 5 

Rather with vigour and refolute nerve, 

Up, up, to blefs man, and thy Mailer to ferve, 

Thankful and hopeful, and happy to raife 

The offering of prayer, and the incenfe of praife ! 

Gird thee, and do thy watching well, 

Duty's Chriftian fentinel ! 

Sloth and Slumber never had part 

In the warrior's will, or the patriot's heart 5 

Soldier of God on an enemy's fhore ! 

Slumber and floth thrall thee no more. 



How gladly would I wander through fome ftrange and 

favage land, 
The lailb at my faddle-bow, the rifle in my hand, 
A leafh of gallant maftifFs bounding by my fide, 
A.nd, for a friend to love, the noble horfe on which I 
ride ! 

Alone, alone — yet not alone, for God is with me there, 

The tender hand of Providence ihall guide me every- 
where, 

While happy thoughts and holy hopes, as fpirits calm 
and mild, 

Shall fan with their fweet wings the hermit-hunter of 
the wild ! 

Without a guide, — yet guided well, — young, buoyant, 

frefh, and free, 
Without a road, — yet all the land a highway unto me, 
Without a care, without a fear, without a grief or pain, 
Exultingly I thread the woods, or gallop o'er the plain ! 

Or, bruihing through the copfe, from his leafy home I 

ftart 
The ftately elk, or tuiky boar, the bifon, or the hart, 



j 6 Adventure. 



And then, with eager lpur, to fcour, away, away, 
Nor flop, until my dogs have brought the glorious brute 
to bay ! 

Or, if the gang of hungry wolves corne yelling on my 

track, 
I make my ready rifle fpeak, and fcare the cowards back 3 
Or, if the lurking leopard's eyes among the branches 

fhine, 
A touch upon the trigger — and his fpotted fkin is mine ! 

And then the hunter's favoury fare at tranquil eventide, 
The dappled deer I mot to-day upon the green hill-fide : 
My feafled hounds are flumbering round befide the 

watercourfe, 
And plenty of fweet prairie-grafs for thee, my noble 

horfe. 

Hifl ! hifl ! I heard fome prowler marling in the wood ; 
I feized my knife and trufly gun, and face to face we 

flood ! 
The Grizzly Bear came rufhing on, — and, as he rufh'd, 

he fell ! 
Hie at him, dogs ! my rifle has done its duty well ! 

Hie at him, dogs ! one bullet cannot kill a foe fo grim \ ' 
The God of battles nerve a Man to grapple now with 

him, — 
And flraight between his hugging arms I plunge my 

whetted knife, 
Ha — ha ! it fplits his iron heart, and drinks the ruddy 

life! 



The Song of Sixteen. jj 

Frantic ftruggles — welling blood — the ftrife is almoft 

o'er, — 
The fhaggy monfter, feebly panting, wallows in his 

gore,— 
Here, lap it hot, my gallant hounds, — the blood of foes 

is fweet -, 
Here, gild withal your dewlapp'd throats, and walh your 

brawny feet ! 

So, fhall we beard thofe tyrants in their dens another 

day, 
Nor tamely wait, with flaviih fear, their coming in 

the way : 
And pleafant thoughts of peace and home fhall £11 our 

dreams to-night, 



For lo, the God of battles has help'd us in the fight ! 



8 \}t j^mtg flf Saleeiu 

Who fhall guefs what I may be ? 

Who can tell my fortune to me ? 

For, braveft and brightefl that ever was fung 

May be — and fhall be— the lot of the young ! 

Hope, with her prizes and victories won, 
Shines in the blaze of my morning fan, 
Conquering Hope, with golden ray, 
Blelling my landfcape far away ; 



78 The Song of Sixteen. 

All my meadows and hills are green, 
And rippling waters glance between, — 
All my Ikies are rofy bright, 
Laughing in triumph at yefter-night : 

My heart, my heart within me fwells, 
Panting, and ftirring its hundred wells 5— 
For youth is a noble feed that fprings 
Into the flower of heroes and kings ! 

Rich in the prefent, though poor in the pari, 
I yearn for the future, vague and vaft ; 
And lo ! what treafure of glorious things 
Giant Futurity fheds from his wings 5 

Pleafures are there, like dropping balms, 
And glory and honour with chaplets and palms. 
And mind well at eafe, and gladnefs, and health, 
A river of peace, and a mine of wealth ! 

Away with your counfels, and hinder me not, — 
On, on let me prefs to my brilliant lot ! 
Young and flrong, and fanguine and free, 
How knoweft thou what I may be ? 



fab, 

Ah, poor youth ! in pitiful truth, 
Thy pride muft feel a fall, poor youth : 
What thou fhalt be well have I feen, — 
Thou fhalt be only what others have been. 

Haply, within a few fwift years, 
A mind bow'd down with troubles and fears, 
The commoner! drudge of men and things, 
Inilead of your — conquering heroes and kings ; ' 

Haply, to follies an early wreck, — 

For the cloud of prefumpticn is now like a fpeck, 

And with a whelming, fudden fweep 

The norm of temptation roars over the deep ; 

Lower the fails of pride, ram youth, — 
Stand to the lowly tiller of truth ; 
Quick, or your limber bark mail be 
The fport of the winds on a flormy fea ! 

Care and peril in lieu of joy, — 

Guilt and dread may be thine, proud boy : 

Lo, thy mantling chalice of life 

Is foaming with forrow, and licknefs, and flrife 3 

Cheated by pleafure, and fated with pain, — 
Watching for honour, and watching in vain, — 



8o The Song of Seventy. 

Aching in heart, and ailing in head, 
Wearily earning daily bread. 

—It is well. I difcern a tear on thy cheek : 
It is well, — thou art humbled, and filent, and meek : 
Now, — courage again ! and, with peril to cope, 
Gird thee with vigour, and helm thee with hope ! 

For life, good youth, hath never an ill 

Which hope cannot fcatter, and faith cannot kill ; 

And flubborn realities never mall bind 

The free-fpreading wings of a cheerful mind. 



Song of j&bmtg. 

I am not old — I cannot be old, 

Though threefcore years and ten 
Have wafted away, like a tale that is told, 

The lives of other men : 

I am not old ; though friends and foes 
Alike have gone down to their graves, 

And left me alone to my joys or my woes, 
As a rock in the midft of the waves : 

I am not old — I cannot be old, 

Though tottering, wrinkled, and grey -, 

Though my eyes are dim, and my marrow is cold, 
Call me not old to-day. 



The Song of Seventy. 8 1 

For, early memories round me throng, 

Old times, and manners, and men, 
As I look behind on my journey fo long 

Of threefcore miles and ten. 



I look behind, and am once more young, 

Buoyant, and brave, and bold, 
And my heart can fing, as of yore it fung, 

Before they call'd me old. 

I do not fee her — the old wife there — 
Shrivell'd, and haggard, and grey> 

But I look on her blooming, and foft, and fair, 
As ihe was on her wedding-day : 

I do not fee you, daughters and fons, 
In the likenefs of women and men y 

But I kifs you now as I kiffed you once, 
My fond little children then : 

And, as my own grandfon rides on my 'knee 
Or plays with his hoop or kite, — 

I can well recollect I was merry as he — 
The bright-eyed little wight ! 

'Tis not long lince, — it cannot be long, — 

My years fo foon were fpent, 
Since I was a boy, both flraight and ftrong, 

Yet now am I feeble and bent. 



82 My Mind's Kingdom. 

A dream, a dream, — it is all a dream ! 

A flrange, fad dream, good footh $ 
For old as I am, and old as I feem, 

My heart is full of youth : 

Eye hath not feen, tongue hath not told, 

And ear hath not heard it fung, 
How buoyant and bold, though it feem to grow old, 

Is the heart, for ever young : 

For ever young, — though life's old age 

Hath every nerve unftrung ; 
The heart, the heart is a heritage 

That keeps the old man young ! 



I fpmfr ta me a f inborn is/' 



Eureka ! this is truth fublime, 
Defying change, out-wreflling time — 
Eureka ! well that truth is told, 
Wifely fpake the bard of old — 
Eureka ! there is peace and praife 
In this ftiort and fimple phrafe, 
A fea of comforts, wide and deep, 
Wherein my confcious foul to fteep, 
A hoard of happy-making wealth 
To doat on, miferly, by ftealth, 
Through Time my reafon's ripeft fruit, 
For all Eternity its root, 



My Mind's Kingdom. 83 

Earth's harveft, and the feed of heaven, 
To me, to me, by mercy given ! 

Yes, Eureka ! — I have found it, 
And before the world will found it 3 
This remains, and frill (hall flay 
When life's gauds have paifed away, 
This, of old my treafure-truth, 
The bofom joy that warm'd my youth, 
My happinefs in manhood's prime, 
My triumph down the ftream of time 
Till death mall lull this heart in age, 
A Jeathlefs glory crown my page, 
My grace-born truth and treafure this, — 
"My mind to me a kingdom is." 

Noble folace, true and flrong, 
Great reward for human wrong, 
With an inward blefling ftill 
To compenfate all earthly ill, 
To recompenfe for adverfe fates, 
Woes, or wants, or fcorns, or hates 3 
To cherifh, after man's neglect, 
When foes deride, and friends fufpect, 
To foothe and blefs the fpirit bow'd 
Down by the felfifh and the proud, 
To lift the foul above this fcene 
Of petty troubles trite and mean, 
Oh ! there is moral might in this,— 
"My mind to me a kingdom is." 
Carve it deep, with letters bold, 
In the imperifhable gold, 



84 My Mind's Kingdom. 

Grave it on fome primal rock 
That hath flood the earthquake fhock, 
Make that word a citizen 
Dwelling in the hearts of men, 
Stamp it on the printed page, 
Sound it on the ears of age, 
Gladden fympathifing youth 
With the foft mufic of this truth, 
This echo'd note of heavenly blifs, — 
"My mind to me a kingdom is." 



Ay, chide or fcorn, — I will be proud, — 

J am not of the common crowd 5 

No ferf is here to outward things, — 

He rules with chiefs ! he reigns with kings ! 

Tell out thy fecret joys, my mind, 

Free and fearlefs as the wind, 

And pour the triumphs of the foul 

In words that like a river roll, 

Foaming on with vital force 

From their ever-gufhing fource, 

Fountains of truth, that overwhelm 

With fwollen flreams this royal realm, 

And in Nilotic richnefs fleep 

My heart's Thebaid, rank and deep ! 

Or bolder, as my thoughts infpire, 

Change that water into lire ! 

From the vext bowels of my foul 

Lava currents roar and roll, 

Burfling out in torrent wide 

Through my crater's ragged fide, 



My Mind's Kingdom. 85 

Ruining on from field to field, 
Till all with boiling fione is feal'd, 
And my hot thoughts, in language pent, 
Stand their own granite monument ! 

Yes ! all the elements are mine, 

To crufh, create, ditfblve, combine, — 

All mine, — the confidence is juft, 

On God I ground my high-born truft 

To Hand, when pole is rent from pole, 

Calm in my majefty of foul, 

Watching the throes of this wreck'd world 

When from their thrones the Alps are hurl'd, 

When fire confumes earth, fea, and air, 

To fiand, unharm'd, undaunted there, 

And grateful ftill to boafl in this, — 

"My mind to me a kingdom is." 

Brother poet, dead fo long, 

Heed thefe echoes to thy fong, 

And love me now, where'er thou art, 

Yearning with magnetic heart 

From thy throne in fome bright fphere 

On this poor brother, grovelling here : 

For I too, I, can fioutly fing 

I am every inch a king ! 

A King of Thought, a Potentate 

Of glorious fpiritual fiate, 

A king of Thought, a king of Mind, 

Realms unmapp'd and undefined, — 

A King ! beneath no man's control, 

Invefied with a royal foul, 



86 My Mind's Kingdom. 

Crown'd by God's imperial hand 
Before Him as a King to Hand, 
And by His wifdom train'd and taught 
To rule my realms as King of Thought. 



O thoughts ! how ill my fellow-men, — 

thoughts ! how fcantly my poor pen 
Can guefs or tell the myriad holt 
Wherewith you crowd my kingdom's coaft ! 
For I am hemm'd and throng' d about 
With your triumphant rabble rout, 
Hurried along by that mad flood, 

The joy-excited multitude, 

A conqueror, borne upon the foam 

Of his great people's gladnefs home, 

A monarch in his grandeft ftate, 

On whom a thoufand thoufand wait ! 

Lo ! they come — my Tribes of Thought, 

Fierce and flulh'd and fever-fraught ! 

From the horizon all around 

1 hear with pride their coming found ; 
See ! their banners circling near, — 
Glittering groves of fhield and fpear, 
Flying clouds of troopers gay, 
Serried lines in dark array, 
Veterans calm with temper' d fword, 
And a difhevell'd frantic horde, — 
On they come with furious force, 
Tramping foot, and thundering horfe, 
On they come, converging loud, 
With clanging arms, a glorious crowd, 



Shouting impatient, fierce and free, 
For me their Monarch, yea, for me ! 

Then, in my majefty and power, 

I quell the madnefs of the hour, 

Bid that tumultuous turmoil ceafe, 

And frown my multitudes to peace. 

Each to his peril and his poft ! 

All huuYd throughout my mighty hoft : 

Courage clear, and duty flern, — ■ 

Heads that freeze and hearts that burn -, 

MarlhalFd ftraight in order due, 

Legions ! pafs in fwift review, 

Bending to my blazon'd Will, 

Loyal to that ftandard full, 

And hailing me with homage then 

King of Thoughts — and thus, of Men ? 

What ? am I powerlefs to control 

Nations by my fingle foul ? 

What? have I not made thoufands thrill 

By the mere impulfe of my will, 

When the flrong Thought goes forth, and binds 

Captive a wondering herd of minds? 

And is not this to reign alone, 

More than the ermine and the throne, 

The jewell'd flate, the gilded rooms, 

The mindlefs jay in peacock plumes ? 

Yes, — if the inmate foul outweighs 

Its dull clay houfe in power and praife, 

Yes, — if Eternity be true, 

And Time both falfe and fleeting too, 



88 My Mind's Kingdom. 

Then, humbler kings, my boaft be this, 
" My mind to me a kingdom is." 

And what, though weak and flow of fpeech, 

111 to comfort, dull to teach ? 

What, though hiding from the ken 

Of my fmall prying fellow-men, — 

Still within my muling mind 

Wifdom's fecret ftores I find, 

And, little noticed, fweetly feed 

On hidden manna, meat indeed, 

Bleffed thoughts I never told, 

Unconfider'd, uncontrolPd, 

Ruining by as thick and fafl 

As autumn leaves upon the blail, 

Or better like the gracious rain 

Dropping on fome thirfly plain. 

And is not this to be a king, 

To carry in my heart a fpring 

Of ceafelefs pleafures, deep and pure, 

Wealth cannot buy, nor power procure ? 

Yea, — by the poet's aril efs art, 

And the fweet fearchings of his heart, 

By bis unknown unheeded blifs, — 

"My mind to me a kingdom is." 

Place me on fome defert fhore 
Foot of man ne'er wander'd o'er ) 
Lock me in a lonely cell 
Beneath fome prifon citadel -, 
Still, here or there, within I find 
My quiet kingdom of the Mind : 



My Mind's Kingdom. 89 

Nay, — mid the tempelt tierce and dark, 
Float me on peril's frailer! bark, 
My quenchlefs foul could fit and think 
And fmile at danger's dizzier! brink : 
And wherefore ? — God, my God, is ftill 
King of kings in good and ill, 
And where He dwelleth — everywhere— 
Safety fupreme and peace are there ; 
And where He reigneth — all around — 
Wifdom, and love, and power are found, 
And reconciled to Him and blifs, 
"My mind to me a kingdom is." 



Thus for my days 3 each waking hour 

Grand with majefty and power, 

Every minute rich in treafure, 

Gems of peace, and pearls of pleafure. 

And for my nights — thofe wondrous nights ! 

How manifold my Mind's delights, 

When the young truant, gladly caught 

In his own labyrinths of thought, 

Finds there another realm to range, 

The dynaflies of Chance and Change. 

O dreams, — what know I not of dreams i 

Their name, their very enence, feems 

A tender light, not dark nor clear, 

A fad fweet myflery wild and dear, 

A dull foft feeling unexplain'd, 

A lie half true, a truth half feign' d ; 

O dreams, — what know I not of dreams \ 

When Reafon, with inebriate gleams, 



Loofes from his wife control 

The prancing Fancies of the foul, 

And fober Judgment, flumbering Hill, 

Sets free Caprice to guide the Will. 

Within one night have I not fpent 

Years of adventurous banifhment, 

Strangely groping like the blind 

In the dark caverns of my mind ? 

Have I not dwelt, from eve till morn, 

Lifetimes in length for praife or fcorn, 

With fancied joys, ideal woes, 

And all fenfat ion's warmefl glows, 

Wondroufly thus expanding Life 

Through feeming fcenes of peace or ftrife, 

Until I verily reign fublime, 

A great creative king of Time ? 

And there are people, things, and places, 

Ufual themes, familiar faces, 

A fecond life, that looks as real 

As this dull world's own unideal, 

Another life of dreams by night, 

That, ftill forgotten, wanes in light, 

Yet feems itfelf to wake and fleep, 

And in that fleep dreams doubly deep, 

While thofe fame dreams may dream anon, 

Tangled mazes wandering on ! 

Yes ; I have often, weak and worn, 

Feebly waked at earlieft morn, 

As a fhip wreck' d failor, toft 

By the wild waves on fome rough coaft, 

Of perils pall remembering nought 

But fome dim cataracts of thought, 



My Mind's Kingdom. 91 

And only roufed betimes to know 

That yerterday feems years ago ! 

And I can apprehend full well 

What old Pythagoras could tell 

Of other fcenes, and other climes, 

And other Selfs in other times ; 

For. oft my confcioufnefs has reeFd 

With fcores of " Richmonds in the field/' 

As, multiform, with no furprife, 

I fee myfelf in other guife, 

And wonderlefs walk fide by fide 

With mine own foul, felf- multiplied ! 

If it be royal then to reign 

Over an infinite domain, 

If it be more than monarch can 

To lengthen out the life of man, 

Yea, if a godlike thing it be 

To revel in ubiquity, 

Is there but empty boaft in this, — 

" My mind to me a kingdom is? " 



— Peace, ralh fool ; be proud no more, 
Count thy faults and follies o'er, 
Turn afide, and note within 
Thy fecret charnel-houfe of Sin, 
Thy bitter heart, thy covetous mind, 
Evil thoughts, and words unkind : 
Can fo foul and mean a thing 
Reign a fpiritual King ? 
Art thou not — yea, thou, myfelf, 
In hope a flave to pride and pelf? 



92 My Mind's Kingdom. 



Art thou not, — yea thou, my mind, 

Weak and naked, poor and blind ? 

Yea, be humble, yea, be ftill ; 

Meekly bow that rebel Will 5 

Seek not felfifhly for praife -, 

Go more foftly all thy days ; 

For to thee belongs no power, 

Wretched infect of an hour, — 

And if God, in bounteous dole, 

Hath grafted life upon thy foul, 

Know thou, there is out of Him 

Nor light in mind, nor might in limb ; 

And, but for One, who from the grave 

Of fin and death flood forth to lave, 

Thy mind, that royal mind of thine, 

So great, ambitious, and divine, 

Would but a root of anguifh be, 

A madnefs and a mifery, 

A bitter fear, a hideous care 

All too terrible to bear, 

Kingly, — but king of pains and woes, 

The fceptred flave to throbs and throes. 



Juftly then, my God, to Thee, 
My royal foul lhall bend the knee, — 
My royal foul, Thy glorious breath, 
By Thee fet free from guilt and death, 
Before Thy majefty bows down, 
Offering the homage of my crown, 
Well pleafed to fing in better blils, 
" My God to me a kingdom is." 



Vanity, vanity ! dead hopes and fears, 
Dim flitting phantoms of departed years, 
Unfatisfying fhadows, vague and cold, 
Of thoughts and things that made my joys of eld, 
Sad memories of the kindly words and ways 
And looks and loves of friends in. other days, — 
Alas ! all gone, — a dream, a very dream, 
A dream is all you are, and all you feem ! 

life ! I do forget thee : I look back, 
And lo, the defert wind has fwept my track : 

1 Hand upon this bare and folid ground 
And, ftrangely waken' d, wonder all around ; 

How came I here r and whence ? and whither tend r 
Speak, friend ! — if death and time have fpared a friend 
Behold, the place that knew me well of yore 
Knoweth me not : and that familiar floor 
Where all my kith and kin were wont to meet 
Is now grown flrange, and throng' d by other feet. 

O foul ! my foul, conrlder thou that fpot, 

Root there thy gratitude, and leave it not 5 

Still let remembrance, with a fwimming eye, 

Live in thofe rooms, nor pais them coldly by 3 

Still let affection cling to thofe old days, 

And, yearning fondly, paint them bright with praife : 



94 Threnos. 

O once my home — with all thy bleflings fled ! 

O forms and faces — gather' d to the dead ! 

O fcenes of joy and forrow — faded fait ! 

— How hollow found thy footlleps, ghoftlike past ! 

An aching emptinefs is all thou art, 

A famine hid within the cavern'd heart. 

Thou changelefs One, — how blefl: to have no change,- 

Only with Thee, my God, I feel not ftrange : 

Thou art the fame for ever and for aye, — 

To-morrow and to-day as yefterday, 

Thou art the fame, — a tranquil Prefent Hill ; 

There I can hide, and blefs Thy fovereign will : 

Yea, blefs Thee, O my Father ! that Thy love 

Call'd in an inftant to the blifs above 

From ills to come and grief and care and fear 

Thy type to me, moll honour'd and moll dear ! 

O true and tender fpirit, pure and good, 

So vext on earth and little underllood, 

Thy gentle nature was not fit for llrife, 

But quail'd to meet the waking woes of lite ; 

And therefore God our Father kindly made 

Thy fleep a death, left thou fhouldfl feel afraid ! 



I love the dead ! 
The precious fpirits gone before, 
And waiting on that peaceful fhore 
To meet with welcome looks 

and kifs me yet once more. 

I love the dead ! 
And fondly doth my fancy paint 
Each dear one, wafh'd from earthly taint, 
By patience and by hope 

made a moll gentle faint. 

O glorious dead ! 
Without one fpot upon the dreis 
Of your ethereal lovelinefs, 
Ye linger, round me Hill 

with earneft will to blefs. 

Enfranchifed dead ! 
Each fault and failing left behind, 
And nothing now to chill or bind, 
How glorioufly ye reign 

in majefiy of mind ! 

O royal dead ! 
The refting, free, unfetter' d dead, 
The yearning, confcicus, holy dead, 
The hoping, waiting, calm, 

the happy, changelefs dead ! 



I love the dead ! 
And well forget their little ill, 
Eager to balk my memory Hill 
In all their befl of words 

and deeds and ways and will. 

I blefs the dead ! 
Their good, half choked by this world's weeds, 
Is blooming now in heav r enly meads, 
And ripening golden fruit 

of all thofe early feeds. 

I truft the dead ! 
They underftand me frankly now, 
There are no clouds on heart or brow, 
But fpirit, reading fpirit, 

anfwereth glow for glow. 

I praife the dead ! 
All their tears are wiped away, 
Their darknefs turn'd to.perfecl day, — 
How blerTed are the dead, 

how beautiful be they ! 

O gracious dead ! 
That watch me from your paradife 
With happy tender ftarlike eyes, 
Let your fweet influence rain 

me bleffings from the Ikies. 

Yet, helplefs dead, 
Vainly my yearning nature dares 
Such unpremeditated prayers 3 
All vain it were for them : 

as even for me theirs. 



The Dead. gj 



Immortal dead ! 
Ye in your lot are fix'd as fate,, 
And man or angel is too late 
To beckon back by prayer 

one change upon your ilate. 

O godlike dead, 
Ye that do reft, like Noah's dove, 
Fearlefs I leave you to the love 
Of Him who gave you peace 

to bear with you above ! 

And ye, the dead, 
Godlefs on earth, and gone aftray, 
Alas, your hour is pail away, — 
The Judge is jufr/5 for you 

it now were fin to pray. 

Still, all ye dead, 
Firfl may be lafl and lafl be firfl, — 
Charity counteth no man.curfl, 
But hopeth flill in Him 

whofe love would fave the worft. 

Therefore, ye dead, 
I love you, be ye good or ill, 
For God, our God, doth love me mil, 
And you He loved on earth 

with love that nought could chill. 

And fome, jufl dead, 
To me on earth moll deeply dear, 
Who loved and nurfed and blefl me here, 
I love you with a love 

that cafteth out all fear : 



9 8 



A Memorial Window. 



Come near me, Dead ! 
In fpirit come to me, and kifs, — 
No ! — I mufl wait awhile for this : 
A few few years or days, 

and I, too, feed on blifs ! 



FOR THE ANGLO-SAXON RACE. 

Honour and Arms ! The feals of Grace 

Upon this oriel glow : 
Arms, as when brothers may embrace, - 

And not to fight a foe ; 
The arms of peace, heraldic arms, 

With blazon richly dight, 
Made gorgeous with chivalric charms, 

And gilt with glory's light. 

Honour and Arms ! O brethren dear, 

I fee your nafhing eyes, 
I feel your true hearts harrying near 

From all outlandilh ikies, 
To balk one hour in one dear fpot, 

The kernel of your love, 
In poor old England unforgot, 

The bleft of God above ! 



A Memorial Window. 99 

Centre of all, Britannia's fhield 

In praife unfullied mines, 
Rofe, fhamrock, thiflle round its field, 

A wreath of beauty twines ; 
Sweet Erin's harp of melody, 

With Scotia's canton fair, 
And thine own royal lions three 

Majeflic roaming there. 

Next, to thy right, a mighty fon, 

A flalwart giant grown, 
A wanton and a truant one, 

Yet a dear child to own! 
The flurdy flripes, — the glittering flars, 

Long may they blaze above, 
Not on the bloody helm of Mars, 

But in the crown of love ! 

Nearer thy heart another fiands, 

A twin, but one in two, 
And bringing homage with both hands 

From one wide heart moil true ; 
Stern Caledonia's thiflly praife 

Reveals her hardy child, 
Where Canada's mild beaver flrays 

To flock the weflern wild. 

Shining above, in orient light 

The morning fun upfoars, — 
Hindoflan's elephantine might 

Is fhadow'd on thofe fhores ; 



ioo A Memorial Window. 

Their lufcious fruits of tropic toil 
The fea-girt Indies breed, 

And forth from Afric's fouthern foil 
Springs Anglo-Saxon feed. 

Beneath Britannia's blazon fair 

Auftralia's emu Hands, 
And kangaroos are lkipping there 

On rich unpeopled lands ; 
New Zealand's war-boat paddles faft 5 

And Borneo's royal fhip 
Makes many a pirate fcuming paft 

Beware " the Badger's " grip ! 

Old Egbert's crofs in golden light 

Is mining over all, 
And, on its right, no viper's bite 

Harms Malta's holy Paul 5 
While huge Gibraltar's rock outftands, 

For briflling cannon cleft, 
Like Hercules with Samfon's hands 

To pillar up the left. 

Below, with praife each lelTer ftar 

In mingled luftre fmiles, 
The ftorm-fwept Falklands feen afar, 

And foft Ionian Ifles, 
With dark Sierra's libell'd beach, 

And Mandarin'd Hong Kong, 
And all who fpeak in Englifh fpeech, 

Or fing an Englilh fong. 



The Anglo-Saxon Race. 101 

O heralds ! when and where before 

Were Earth's true honours feen, 
In brightnefs and in beauty more 

Than on this Gothic fcreen ? 
Where Britain, like a mother hen, 

Is gathering to her wings 
The world of Anglo-Saxon men, 

Creation's priefts and kings ! 



%\t 3ttfll0-jton $m. 



Stretch forth ! ftretch forth ! from the fouth to the 

north, 
From the e aft to the weft, — ftretch forth ! ftretch forth ! 
Strengthen thy ftakes, and lengthen thy cords, — 
The world -is a tent for the world's true lords ! 
Break forth and fpread over every place 5 
The world is a world for the Saxon Race ! 

England fowed the glorious feed, 

In her wife old laws and her pure old creed, 

And her ftout old heart, and her plain old tongue, 

And her refolute energies, ever young, 

And her free bold hand, and her frank fair tace, 

And her faith in the rule of the Saxon Race ! 

Feebly dwindling day by day, 
All other races are fading away : 



io2 Non Anglifed Angeli. 

The fenfual South, and the fervile Eaft, 

And the tottering throne of the treacherous prieft $ 

And every land is in evil cafe 

But the wide-fcatter'd realm of the Saxon Race ! 

Englishmen everywhere ! brethren all ! 

By one great name on your millions I call, — 

Norman, American, Gael, and Celt, 

Into this fine mix'd mafs ye melt, 

And all the beft of your beft I trace 

In the golden brafs of the Saxon Race ! 

Englifhmen everywhere ! faithful and free ! 

Lords of the land, and kings of the fea, — 

Anglo-Saxons ! honeft and true, 

By hundreds of millions my word is to you, — 

Love one another ! as brothers embrace 

That the World may be bleft in the Saxon Race ! 



Ho ! ye fwift meffengers out of the North, 
Mercy's ambaffadors,— halle to go forth ! 
Speedily let your broad fails be unfurl' d, 
Winging your errand all over the world, 
Wafting your meffage of peace and goodwill, 
Brotherhood, godlinefs, fcience, and lkill ! 



Ye are the fait of the earth, and its health, — 
Ye are its gladnefs, its wifdom, and wealth, — 
Ye are its glory ! O Britain, thy fons, 
Thy flout Anglo-Saxons, thy refolute ones, 
Ever triumphant on every more, 
Are only triumphant for Good evermore ! 

Miniflers bright of the bounties of God, 

Where is the land by thefe angels untrod ? 

Tell it out, Africa, China, and Scinde, 

And Ifles of the Sea, and the uttermofl Inde, 

Tell out their zeal, and their grandeur of foul, 

From the lands of the Line to the mows of the Pole ! 

Tell out the goodnefs, the greatnefs, the grace, 
That follow their footfleps in every place ! 
Tell it out, thou, the firfl cradle of Man, 
Teeming with millions, ferene Hindoflan, — 
Tell how fair commerce, and juft-dealing might, 
Have bleft thee with peace, and adorn'd thee with light! 

Boundlefs Australia, help of the age, 

And heirloom of hope on Futurity's page, 

Lo ! thy vail continent, filent and fad, 

With the fong of the Saxon has learned to be glad -, 

Rejoicing to change the wild wafte and the fen 

Into wide-waving harvefts and cities of men ! 

Mighty Columbia, Star of the Weft, 

See, 'tis a world by the Saxon polfeft ! 

Glorious and glad, from the North to the South, 

Your millions praife God with an Englishman's mouth! 



1 04 Non Angli fed Angeli. 

And all love a land where at home they would be — 
England, old England, the Home of the Free ! 

Dotted about on the width of the world, 
Her beacon is blazing, her flag is unfurl'd : 
Not a fhore, not a fea, not a deep defert wild, 
But pays its mute homage to Energy's Child, — 
Not a realm, not a people, or kingdom, or clan, 
But owns him the chief of the children of Man ! 

The foaming Atlantic hath render'd its ifles, 
And the dark Caribbean its tropical fmiles, 
And Southern Pacific thofe many-hued flowers, 
And Europe's Mid-Ocean thefe temples and towers- 
Their tribute the feas of Old India bring, 
And Borneo is proud of her new Britim King ! 

Yes ! for dear Britain, the Mother of Men, 
Rules all, under God, by the fword and the pen : 
She is the Delphi, the heart of the earth, 
The rock-rufhing fpring of humanity's worth ; 
And, if two hemifpheres profper, the caufe 
Lies in old England's Religion and Laws ! 

Yes ! for her realm is the Gofhen of light ; 
The wings of thefe Angels have fcatter'd the night ! 
Duteous and daring, as beauteous and llrong, 
They are helpers of Right, and avengers of Wrong : 
Fair in their fouls as their eyes and their locks, 
Stout in their hearts as their oaks and their rocks ! 



Ciratntstatttt, 

The waves, the winds of Circumftance ! 

What arm their ftrength can Hem ? 
What ftruggling mortal has a chance 

To bind or buffet them ? 
Againft thefe rapids who can fwim, — 

And not be hurl'd away- 
Over Niagara's boiling brim, — 

The torrent of To-day ? 

Ah ! truft not, Man, to thine own ftrength ; 

Ah ! boaft not of thy power 5 
Thy befl in all its breadth and length 

Will break in any hour : 
Let but Temptation touch the line 

Electrical within, 
That fpark will fpring the fecret mine 

Of Nature's ready fin ! 

If fome fun-chance, and fome moon-change 

Of paflion's light and heat 
Within Occafion's comet-range 

By bad conjunction meet, — 
Behold, a Deluge ! to o'erwhelm 

The wifdom and the worth 
Of mortal's nobleft fpirit-realm, 
The pattern-man of earth ! 



O tower of ftrength ! O God, O Friend ! 

Defend us by Thy power 5 
Till we have reach'd our trial's end, 

Uphold us every hour ! 
Each Hep we venture in advance 

Is full of woes unknown, 
If Thou enfranchife Circumftance, 

And leave us all alone ! 



a reply to Longfellow's "mars." 

Thou lover of the blaze of Mars, 
Come out with me to-night, 

For I have found among the ftars 
A name of nobler light. 

Thy boafl is of the unconquer'd Mind, 
The ftrong, the ftern,. the frill ; 

Mine of the happier Heart, refign'd 
To Wifdom's holy will. 

They call my fiar by Beauty's name, 
The gentle Queen of Love 5 

And look ! how fair its tender flame 
Is flickering above : 



liar of peace, O torch of hope, 
I hail thy precious ray 

A diamond on the ebon cope 
To ihine the dark away ! 

Within my heart there is no light 
But cometh from above, 

1 give the firll watch of the night 

To the fweet planet, Love : 

The liar of Charity and Truth, 
Of cheerful thoughts and fage, 

The lamp to guide my Heps in youth 
And gladden mine old age ! 

O brother, yield ! thy fiery Mars 

For all his mailed might 
Is not fo llrong among the liars 

As mine, the Queen of night : 

A queen to Ihine all nights away, 
And make the morn more clear, 

Contentment gilding every day, — 
— There is no twilight here ! 

Yes 5 in a trial world like this 
Where all that comes — is fent, 

Learn how divine a thing it is 
To fmile and be content ! 



( ip8 ) 



§ais ptsttte % f mm 



How glorious is thy calling, 

My happy Fatherland ! 
While all the thrones are falling, 

In righteoufnefs to fland $ 
Amid the earthquakes heaving thus 

To reft in paflures green, — 
Then, God be praifed who helpeth us, 

And — God preferve the Queen ! 

How glorious is thy calling! 

In sun, and moon, and liars, 
To fee the figns appalling 

Of prodigies and wars, — - 
Yet by thy grand example Hill 

From lies the world to wean, 
Then, God be praifed who guards from ill, 

And — God preferve the Queen ! 

Within thy facred border 

Amid the founding feas, 
Religion, Right, and Order 

Securely dwell at eafe 3 



God preferve the Queen. 109 

And if we lift this beacon bright. 

Among the nations feen, 
We blefs the Lord who loves the right, 

And — God preferve the Queen ! 

Fair paflures and ftill waters 

Are ours withal to blefs 
The thronging fons and daughters 

Of exile and diflrefs -, 
For who fo free as Englifh hearts 

Are, fhall be, and have been ? 
Then, God be thanked on our parts, 

And — God preferve the Queen ! 

Though ftrife and fear and madnefs 

Are raging all around, 
There Hill is peace and gladnefs 

On Britain's holy ground -, 
But not to us the praife, — to us 

Our glory is to lean 
On Him who giveth freely thus, 

And — God preferve the Queen ! 

O nation greatly favour' d, 

If ever thou wouldft bring 
A facrifice well favour' d 

Of praife to God the King, 
Now, now, let all thy children raife 

In faith and love ferene, 
The loyal patriot hymn of praife 

Of — God preferve the Queen ! 



mfoatft »|. 

Ah, might I but efcape to fome fweet fpot, 

Oafis of my hopes, to fancy dear, 
Where rural virtues are not yet forgot, 

And good old cufloms crown the circling year : 
Where Hill contented peafants love their lot, 

And trade's vile din offends not nature's ear, 
But hofpitable hearths, and welcomes warm 
To country quiet add their focial charm : 

Some fmiling bay of Cambria's happy Ihore, 
A wooded dingle on a mountain-fide, 

Within the diftant found of ocean's roar, 
And looking down on valley fair and wide, 

Nigh to the village church, to pleafe me more 
Than vaft cathedrals in their Gothic pride, 

And blefl: with pious paflor, who has trod 

Himfelf the way, and leads his flock to God, — 

"There would I dwell, for I delight therein ! " 

Far from the evil ways of evil men, 
Untainted by the foil of others' fin, 

My own repented of, and clean again ; 
With health and plenty crown'd, and peace within, 

Choice books, and guiltlefs pleafures of the pen, 
And mountain-rambles with a welcome friend, 
And dear domeftic joys, that never end. 



Wifdom's Wijh. 1 1 1 

There from the flowery mead, or fhingled more, 
To cull the gems that bounteous Nature gave, 

From the rent mountain pick the brilliant ore, 
Or feek the curious cryftal in its cave 5 

And learning nature's Mafter to adore, 

Know more of Him who came the loft to fave ; 

Drink deep the pleafures contemplation gives, 

And learn to love the meaner! thing that lives. 

No envious wifh my fellows to excel, 

No fordid money-getting cares be mine ; 

No low ambition in high ftate to dwell, 

Nor meanly grand among the poor to fhine : 

But, fweet Benevolence, regale me well 

With thofe cheap pleafures and light cares of thine, 

And meek-eyed Piety, be always near, 

With calm Content, and Gratitude lincere. 

Refcued from cities, and forenfic ftrife, 

And walking well with God in Nature's eye, 

Bleft with fair children, and a faithful wife, 

Love at my board, and friendfhip dwelling nigh, 

Oh thus to wear away my ufeful life, 

And, when I'm call'd, in rapturous hope to die, 

Thus to rob heav'n of all the good I can, 

And challenge earth to fhow a happier man ! 



%\t fpoijtf s % «nt. 

My own little darling — dead ! 
The dove of my happinefs fled ! 

Juft Heaven, forgive 

But let me not live 
Now my poor babe is dead ! 

No more to my yearning breaft 
Shall that fweet mouth be preft 3 

No more on my arm 

Nettled up warm 
Shall my fair darling reft ! 

Alas, for that dear glazed eye, 
Why did it dim or die ? 

Thofe lips fo foft 

I have kiffed fo oft 
Why are they ice, oh why ? 

Alas, little frocks and toys, 
Shadows of bygone joys, — 

Have I not treafure 

Of bittereft pleafure 
In thefe little frocks and toys ? 



The Mother s Lament. 113 

Oh harrowing fight to behold 
That marble-like face all cold, 

That fmall cherilh'd form 

Flung to the worm, 
Deep in the charnel-mould ! 

Where is each heart-winning way, 
Thy prattle, and innocent play ? 

Alas, they are gone, 

And left me alone 
To weep for them night and day ! 

Yet why fhould I linger behind r 
Kill me too, Death mofl kind 5 

Where can I go 

To meet thy blow 
And my fweet babe to find ? 

I know it, I rave half- wild ! 
But who can be calm and mild 

When the deep heart 

Is riven apart 
Over a dear dead child? 

I know it, I fhould not fpeak 
So boldly, — I ought to be meek, 

But love, it is flrong 3 

And my fpirit is wrong, — 
Help me, my God ! I am weak ! 



tost. 

Yet will I truft; in all my fears, 
Thy mercy, gracious Lord, appears, 
To guide me through this vale of tears, 

And be my ftrength -, 
Thy mercy guides the ebb and flow 
Of health and joy, or pain and woe, 
To wean my heart from all below 

To Thee at length. 

Yes 5 welcome pain, — which Thou haft fent,- 
Yes 5 farewell bleffings, — Thou haft lent, 
With Thee alone I reft content, 

For Thou art Heav'n, — 
My truft repofes, fafe and ftill, 
On the wife goodnefs of Thy will, 
Grateful for earthly good — or ill, 

Which Thou haft given. 

O bleffed Friend ! O blifsful thought ! 
With happieft confolation fraught, — 
Truft Thee I may, I will, I ought, — 

To doubt were fin 5 
Then let whatever florms arife, 
Their Ruler fits above the ikies, 
And lifting unto Him mine eyes, 

'Tis calm within. 



The New Tear. 115 



Danger may threaten, foes moleft, 

Poverty brood, difeafe infeft, 

Yea, torn affections wound the breafl 

For one fad hour, 
But Faith looks to her home on high, 
Hope cafts around a cheerful eye, 
And Love puts all the terrors by 

With gladdening power. 



%\l |bfo f M. 



The old man he is dead, young heir, 

And gone to his long account ; 
Come, nand on his hearth, and fit in his chair, 

And into his faddle mount ! 

The old man's face was a face to be fear'd, 

But thine both loving and gay -, 
Oh who would not choofe for that Hern white beard, 

A bright young cheek alway ? 

The old man he had outlived them all, 

His friends, he faid, were gone ; 
But hundreds are waffailing now in the hall, 

And true friends every one ! 



1 1 6 The New Tear. 



The old man moan'd both fore and long 

Of pleafures pail, he faid ; 
But pleafures to come are the young heir's fong, 

The living, not the dead ! 

The old man babbled of old regrets, 

Alack ! how much he owed : 
But the young heir has not a feather of debts 

His heart withal to load ! 

The old man ufed to fhudder, and feem 

Remembering fecret fin ; 
But the happy young heir is as if in a dream, 

Paradife all within ! 

Alas ! for the old man, — where is he now ? 

And fear for thyfelf, young heir ; 
For he was innocent once as thou, 

As ruddy and blythe and fair : 

Reap wifdom irom his furrow'd face, 

Cull counfel from his fear ; 
Oh fpeed thee, young heir, in gifts and in grace, 

And bleflings on thee, — New Year ! 



fa a §twtxaus ffluijr. 

Unworldly child of feeling, 

With kindled eye and kindly heart 
Incautioufly revealing 

How loving and how true thou art, — 
Alas ! for men will ufe thee, 

And even while they ufe contemn, 
And in their turn refufe thee 

The help that thou hall yielded them. 

Yet holy angels love thee, 

And yearningly they fhield from harm, 
As glorious guards above thee, 

A fpirit found fo frefh and warm 5 
And God Himfelf doth blefs thee, 

And all the fouls made perfect now 
In fympathy carefs thee, 

Rifling thine illumined brow ! 

Still, while I praife thy beauty, 

Thy characters of lovely light, 
In friendfhip's tender duty 

I counfel thee, dear youth, aright : 
Remember one true fentence — 

That " pearls fhould not be can 1 to fwine/ 
And never fhall repentance 

Becloud one generous act of thine. 



Mtmt ' 

Dear Nurfe of Thought, calm chaos-brooding dove, 

Thee, Silence, well I love 5 
Mother of Fancy, friend and lifter mine, 

Silence, my heart is thine. 

Rarer than Eloquence, and fweeter far 

Thy dulcet paufes are ; 
Stronger than Mafic, charm Ihe ne'er fo well, 

Is, Silence, thy foft fpell. 

The rufhing cryftals throb about my brain, 

And thrill, and moot again, — 
Their teeming imagery crowds my fphere, 

If Silence be but here. 

Bodily reft is Sleep, the foothing fleep, 

Spirit-reft, Silence deep 5 
O daily Difcord, ceafe, for mercy, ceafe ! 

Break not this happy peace. 

The melodies within alone are heard, 

By their own ftillnefs ftirr'd -, 
O mute, and motionlefs, — O death of ftrife, 

O precious lull in life ! 

Now know I how Pygmalion's fpirit ftern 

Could on a ftatue yearn, — 
The hufh'd, the beautiful, the calmly fair, 

The marble Silence there ! 



P 'i far % gest ! 

All 's for the beft! be fanguine and cheerful, 

Trouble and Sorrow are friends in difguife, 
Nothing but Folly goes faithlefs and fearful, 

Courage for ever is happy and wife : 
All for the belt,— if a man would but know it 

Providence wifhes us all to be bleft 5 
This is no dream of the pundit or poet, 

Heaven is gracious, and — All 's for the beft ! 

All for the beft ! fet this on your ftandard, 

Soldier of fadnefs, or pilgrim of love, 
Who to the fhores of Defpair may have wander' d, 

A way-wearied fwallow, or heartftricken dove : 
All for the beft ! — be a man but confiding, 

Providence tenderly governs the reft, 
And the frail bark of His creature is guiding 

Wifely and warily all for the beft. 

All for the beft ! then fling away terrors, 

Meet all your fears and your foes in the van, 
And in the midft of your dangers or errors 

Truit like a child, while you ftrive like a man : 
All 's for the beft ! — unbiaffed, unbounded, 

Providence reigns from the Eafl to the Weft 3 
And, by both wifdom and mercy furrounded, 

Hope and be happy that All 's for the beft ! 



%\t p*It leak 

World of forrow, care, and change, 

Even to myfelf I feem, 
As adown thy vale I range, 

Wandering in a dream : 
All things are fo ftrange. 

For, the dead who died this day, 

Fair and young, or great and good, 
Though we mourn them, where are they ? 

— With thofe before the flood -, 
Equally paft away ! 

Living hearts have fcantly time 

To feel fome other heart moft dear, 
Scarce can love the love fublime 

Unfelfillily lincere, — 
Death nips it in its prime ! 



Minds have hardly power to learn 

How much there is to know aright, 
Can dimly through the mill difcern 
Some little glimpfe of light,- — 
The order is, Return ! 



The Riddle Read. 1 2 1 



Willing hands but juft begin 

Wifely to work for God and man, 
And fome poor wages barely win 

As one who well began, — 
The Mailer calls, Come in ! 

Well, — this is well : for well begun 
Is all the good man here may do ; 
He cannot hope to fee half done ; 

A furlong is crept through, 
And lo, the goal is won ! 

This is the life of fight and fenfe, 

And other brighter lives depend 
On all we here can juft commence ; 

But long before an end 
God calls His fervant hence. 

Take courage, courage : not in vain 

The Ruler hath appointed thus 3 
Account it neither grief nor pain 

His mercy fpareth us — 
It is the labourer's gain. 

Here we begin to love and know ; 

And when God's willing grace perceives 
The plant of Heav'n hath roots to grow, 

He plucks the ranker leaves, 
And doth tranfplant it fo ! 



ftapMt 



How many years are fled, — 
How many friends are dead : 
Alas, how fail 
The pall hath pall, — 
How fpeedily life hath fped ! 

Places, that knew me of yore, 
Know me for theirs no more 5 
And fore at the change 
Quite llrange I range 
Where I was at home before. 

Thoughts and things each day 
Seem to be fading away 5 

Yet this is, I wot, 

Their lot to be not 
Continuing in one Hay ! 

A mingled melh it feems 
Of facts and fancy's gleams $ 

I fcarce have power 

From hour to hour 
To feparate things from dreams. 



Pojl-Letters. 123 



Darkly, as in a glals, 

Like a vain fnadow they pafs -, 
Their ways they wend 
And tend to an end, 

The goal of life, alas ! 

Alas ? and wherefore fo r — 
Be glad for this palling Ihow 5 
The world and its lull 
Back mult to their dull 
Before the foul can grow. 

Expand, my willing mind, 
Thy nobler life to find 5 
Thy childhood leave 
Nor grieve to bereave 
Thine age of toys behind. 



fost-pters. 

Lottery tickets every day, — 

And ever drawn a blank : 
Yet none the lefs we pant and pray 

For prizes in that bank : 
Morn by morn, and week by week, 

They cheat us, or amufe, 
Whillt on we fondly hope, and feek 

Some Irirring daily news. 



1 24 Poft-Letters. 



The heedlefs poftman on his path 

Is fcattering joys and woes ; 
He bears the feeds of life and death, 

And drops them as he goes ! 
I never note him trudging near 

Upon his common track, 
But all my heart is hope, or fear, 

With virions bright, or black ! 

I hope — what hope I not ? — vague things 

Of wondrous poffible good 5 
I dread — as vague imaginings, 

A very viper's brood : 
Fame's funfhine, Fortune's golden dews 

May now be hovering o'er, — 
Or the pale lriadow of ill news 

Be cowering at my door ! 

Myftery ! mailer-key to life, 
Thou fpring of every hour, 

1 love to wreftle in thy ftrife, 

And tempt thy perilous power ; 
I love to know that none can know 

What this day may bring forth, 
What blifs for me, for me what woe 

Is travailing in birth ! 

See, on my neighbour's threfhold ftands 

Yon carelefs common man, 
Bearing, perchance, in thofe coarfe hands 

— My Being's alter'd plan ! 



Pojl-Letters. 125 

My germs of pleafure, or of pain, 

Of trouble, or of peace, 
May there lie thick as drops of rain 

Diflill'd from Gideon's fleece ! 

Who knoweth ? may not loves be dead, — 

Or thofe we loved laid low, — 
Who knoweth r may not wealth be fled, 

And all the world my foe ! 
Or who can tell if Fortune's hour 

(Which once on all doth mine) 
Be not within this morning's dower, 

A profperous morn of mine ? 

Ah, cold Reality ! — in fpite 

Of hopes, and endlefs chance, 
That bitter poftman, ruthlefs wight, 

Has cheated poor Romance : 
No letters ! Oh the dreary phrafe ! 

Another day forlorn : — 
And thus I wend upon my ways 

To watch another morn. 

Ceafe, babbler ! — let thofe doubtings ceafe : 

What ? mould a fon of heaven 
With the pure manna of his Peace 

Mix up this faithlefs leaven ? 
Not fo ! — for in the hands of God, 

And in none earthly will, 
Abides alike my ftarT and rod, 

My good, and feeming ill. 




NEW WORDS TO " MYNHEER VAN DUNK, 



Mine own flout heart ! 

You and I muft never part, 
But bravely get on together, — 

Through calm and ftrife, 

And the ups and downs of life, 
In winter, or fummer weather ! 
Singing, Oh ! for a true bold heart fhall be 
Neftled in its warm old place with me, 
Cheerful evermore, and frank, and free, 
Though the Mountains be drown d in the rolling Sea ! 

ii. 

Troubles, well feafon'd, as being well fent, 

No honeft man dreams of fcorning ; 
But he mixes them up in his cup of content, 
And fears no foes 
While he happily knows 
That Night muft end in Morning ! 
For a brave glad heart (hall always be 
Beating in its own warm neft with me, 
Cheerful evermore, and frank, and free, 
Though the Mountains be drown'd in the rolling Sea ! 



AT, 



%\t pot. 



A TRUE TALE OF TERROR. 

He was a bright and beauteous boy, 
A pretty one of four years old, 
Blue-eyed and ringleted with gold, 

And full of life and love and joy : 

A happy, funny, little child, 

With dimpled cheeks and laughing lips, 
From head to feet and finger-tips 

A thing with merriment half wild ! 

And how his mother glow'd to fee 
Her- darling's many winning wiles, 
And how his father's prouder imiles 

Reflected that fweet cherub's glee ! 

But, on one certain woefome eve, 
— It was a neighbour's wedding-day, 
Where every face was glad and gay — 

Their babe thofe poor fond parents leave. 

And Sarah has the child in truft,— 
And — there's her lover to be met, 
And- — how that fractious boy does fret 

That fiie mould leave him — but ibe mull $ 



128 The Idiot. 



" Stop, fir, I '11 make you lie quite ftill !" 
So cruel Nurfe contrives that Dread 
Shall be the watcher in her Head, 

While fhe runs off to walk with Will. 

A dreffed-up Horror in a fheet 
Is fet befide that infant's cot ! 
Ha ! now he 's ftill enough, God wot, 

As, terror-flruck from head to feet, 

His large blue eyes freeze hard with fear, 
His rofy cheeks are marble pale, 
And from his lips a gibbering wail, — 

O mother ! — there is madnefs here ! 

Woe, woe ! they come — too late return' d- 
And run up quick their babe to kifs $ 
All filent ? Abfent ? What is this ? 

And candles to the fockets burn'd ? 

Upright the fheeted Horror Hood 
And, juft beneath an Idiot lay, 
Staring and flunn'd, and cold as clay ! 

Is it the child ? or painted wood ? 

O loft, loft, loft ! that foul fo dear 
Is palfied on its mental throne ! 
This dreffed-up Horror reigns alone 

Its King within — a lifelong Fear ! 

Ah, ftricken hearts ! Ah, bitter lot ! 

Mercy, O God ! and Help, O Man ! 

Mercy and Help — as beft we can, 
To cheer that horror-fhrouded cot ! 



% Hoax gtatt's j&mttotg. 

My holyday, and my holiday, 

A fabbath for body and foul ! 
My chance for a quiet time to pray, 
And my change from the City to ileal away 

For a happy country ftroll. 

It is God's good mercy, however it feem 

To Pharifees folly and fin, 
If I get well away on the wings of fleam, 
And let fweet meadows or woodland ftream 

Frefhen my heart within. 

you that are pious on leifure and wealth, 
And live in the country air, 

Think not I do it in fhame or by flealth, 
To me it is mercy, religion, and health, 
For God meets with me there ! 

1 have only one day in the whole long week, 

While yours are all the feven $ 
So I leave my lodging, where gutters reek 
With every miafma that blanches the cheek, 

To breathe the breath of heaven. 



130 My Own Place. 



I feek it of grace, and with gratitude find ; 

For the fcene fo green and calm 
Gladdens mine eyes, and comforts my mind, 
That I leave ail worries and fins behind, 
Gathering Gilead's balm. 

Yes, pfalms of the heart, and leffons of truth, 

And liturgies full of love, 
Live in the fields, renewing my youth, 
As I faunter (breaking the Sabbath, forfooth !) 
Like Adam in Eden, or corn-poppied Ruth, 

Dreaming of gardens above ! 



:g §m f to. 

Whoever I am, wherever my lot, 

Whatever I happen to be, 
Contentment and Duty iliall hallow the fpot 

That Providence orders for me 5 
No covetous (training and flriving to gain 

One feverifh ftep in advance, — 
I know my own place, and you tempt me in vain 

To hazard a change and a chance ! 

I care for no riches that are not my right, 

No honour that is not my due ; 
But Hand in my Itation by day, or by night, 

The will of my Malter to do 5 



My Own Place. 131 



He lent me my lot, be it humble or high, 

And fet me my bufinefs here ; 
And whether I live in His fervice, or die, 

My heart fhall be found in my fphere ! 

If wealthy, I Hand as the fteward of my King ; 

If poor, as the friend of my Lord 5 
If feeble, my prayers and my praifes I bring ; 

If Hal wart, my pen or my fword : 
If wifdom be mine, I will cherifh His gift ; 

If iimplenefs, balk in His love $ 
If forrow, His hope fhall my fpirit uplift 3 

If joy, I will throne it above ! 

The good that it pleafes my God to beftow, 

I gratefully gather and prize -, 
The evil, — it can be no evil, I know, 

But only a good in difguife 3 
And whether my llation be lowly or great, 

No duty can ever be mean, 
The factory cripple is fix'd in his fate 

As well as a King or a Queen ! 

For duty's bright livery glorifies all 

With brotherhood equal and free, 
Obeying, as children, the heavenly call, 

That places us where we fhould be ; 
A fervant, — the badge of my fervitude lhines 

As a jewel invefted by Heaven -, 
A monarch, — remember that juflice affigns 

Much fervice, where fo much is given ! 



132 My Own Place. 



Away then with "helpings'* that humble and harm 

Though " bettering " trips from your tongue, 
Away ! for your folly would fcatter the charm 

That round my proud poverty hung : 
I felt that I flood like a man at my port, 

Though peril and hardfhip were there, — 
And all that your wifdom would counfel me mofl 

Is — "Leave it 5 — do better elfewhere." 

f f better were better indeed, and not worfe, 

I might go a-head with the reil; 
But many a gain and a joy is a curfe, 

And many a grief for the belt : 
No ! — duties are all the " advantage " I ufe ; 

I pine not for praife or for pelf 5 
And, as for ambition, I care not to choofe 

My better or worfe for myfelf ! 

I will not, I dare not, I cannot ! — I Hand 

Where God has ordain'd me to be, 
An honeft mechanic — or lord in the land, — 

He fitted my calling for me : 
Whatever my flate, be it weak, be it ftrong, 

With honour, or fweat, on my face, 
This, this is my glory, my flrength, and my fong, 

I fland, like a ftar, in my place. 



€t$mV& peart 



England's heart ! Oh never fear 

The flurdy good old flock $ 
Nothing 's falfe or hollow here, 

But folid as a rock : 
England's heart is found enough, 

And fafe in its old place, 
Honefl, loyal, blithe, and bluff, 

And open as her face ! 

England's heart ! With beating nerves 

It rallies for the throne, — 
And, with Luther, well preferves 

The knee for God alone : 
England's heart is found enough, 

Unfhaken and ferene, 
Like her oak-trees true and tough 

And old, — but glad and green. 

England's heart ! All Europe hurl'd 
To ruin, ftrife, and dearth, 

Sees yet one Zoar in the world, 
The Gofhen of the earth 5 

England's heart is found enough, — 
And — though the ikies be dark, 

Though winds be loud, and waves be rough- 
Safe, as Noah's ark ! 



England's heart, — ay, God be praifed, 

That thus, in patriot pride, 
An Englifh cheer can yet be raifed 

Above the flormy tide : 
Safe enough, and found enough, 

It thrills the heart to feel 
A man's a bit of Englifh fluff, 

True from head to heel ! 



UlEgotus. 

FOR MUSIC. 

" Let bygones be bygones," — they foolifhly fay, 

And bid me be wife and forget them ; 
But old recollections are active to-day, 

And I can do nought but regret them : 
Though the prefent be pleafant, all joyous and gay, 

And promifing well for the morrow, 
I love to look back on the years pafl away, 

Embalming my bygones in forrow. 

If the morning of life has a mantle of gray, 

Its noon will be blither and brighter, 
If March has its florm, there is funfhine in May, 

And light out of darknefs is lighter : 
Thus the prefent is pleafant, a cheerful to-day, 

With a wifer, a foberer gladnefs, 
Becaufe it is tinged with the mellowing ray 

Of a yefterday's funfet of fadnefs. 



\txq to %mm\$. 



boys and men of Britifh mould, 
With mother's milk within you ! 

A fimple word for young and old, 
A word to warn and win you : 

You 've each and all got human hearts 
As well as human features, 

So hear me, while I take the parts 
Of all the poor dumb creatures. 

1 wot your lot is fometimes rough 5 
But theirs is fomething rougher, — 

No hopes, no loves, — but pain enough, 

And only fenfe to furTer : 
You,' men and boys, have friends and joys, 

And homes and hopes in meafure, — 
But thefe poor brutes are only mutes, 

And never knew a pleafure. 

A little water, charF, and hay, 

And fleep, the boon of heaven, 
How great returns for thefe have they 

To your advantage given : 
And yet the worn-out horfe or afs 

Who makes your daily gaining, 
Is paid with goad and thong, alas ! 

Though nobly uncomplaining. 



136 Mercy to Animals. 

Stop, cruel boy ! you mean no ill, 

But never thought about it, — 
Why beat that patient donkey fiill ? 

He goes as well without it : 
Here, tafle and try a cut or two, — 

Ha ! you can fhout and feel it ; 
Boy — that was Mercy's hint to you, — 

In fhorter meafure deal it. 

Stop, full en man : 'tis true to tell 

How ill the world has ufed you ; 
The farmers didn 't treat you well, 

The fquire's felf refufed you : 
But is that any reafon why 

A bad revenge you 're wreaking 
On that poor, lame, old horfe, — whofe eye 

Rebukes you without fpeaking ? 

Oh ! think not thou that this dumb brute 

Has no flrong Friend to aid him -, 
Nor hope, becaufe his wrongs are mute, 

They roufe not God who made him ! 
A little while, and you are — dead, 

With all your bitter feelings -, 
How will the Judge, fo juft and dread, 

Reward your cruel dealings ? 

Go, do fome good, before you die, 
To thofe who make your living :. 

They will not afk you reafons why, 
Nor tax you for forgiving : 



Mercy to Animals. 137 

Their mouths are mute, but molt acute 
The woes whereby you wear them ; 

Then come with me, and only fee 
How eafy 'tis to fpare them ! 

Load for'ard ; neither goad nor flog : 

For reft your beaft is flagging : 
And do not let that willing dog 

Tear out his heart with dragging : 
Wait, wait awhile, thofe axles greafe, 

And lhift this buckle's fretting 5 
And give that galling collar eafe 5 — 

How grateful is he getting ! 

So poor yourfelves, and fhort of joys, 

Unkindly ufed, unfairly, 
I fometimes wonder, men and boys, 

You 're merciful fo rarely : 
If you have felt how hunger gripes, 

Why famifh and ill-ufe 'em ? . 
If you've been wealed by fores and ftripes, 

How can you beat and bruife 'em. 

Oh, fear ! left God has taught in vain, 

And fo your hearts you harden ; 
Oh, hope ! for lo ! He calls again, 

And now 's the time for pardon : 
Yes, hafte to-day to put away 

Your cruelties and curfes, — 
And man at leaft, if not his beaft, 

Shall blefs me for my verfes. 



( ^ ) 



$ Jartosi 3% m , 
i8 47 . 

O nation, Chriftian nation, 

Lift high the hymn of praife ! 
The God of our Salvation 

Is love in all His ways ; 
He bleffeth us, and feedeth 

Every creature of His hand, 
To fuccour him that needeth 

And to gladden all the land ! 

Rejoice, ye happy people, 

And peal the changing chime 
From every belfried fleeple 

In fymphony fublime : 
Let cottage and let palace 

Be thankful, and rejoice, 
And woods and hills and valleys 

Re-echo the glad voice ! 

Frcm glen and plain and city 

Let gracious incenfe rife, — 
The Lord of life and pity 

Hath heard His creatures' cries 3 
And where in fierce oppreffing 

Stalk'd fever, fear, and dearth, 
He pours a triple blefling 

To fill and fatten earth ! 



A Harveji Hymn. 139 

Gaze round in deep emotion : 

The rich and ripen'd grain 
Is like a golden ocean 

Becalm' d upon the plain 5 
And we, who late were weepers 

Left judgment fhould deftroy, 
Now fing, becaufe the reapers 

Are come again with joy ! 

O praife the Hand that giveth 

— And giveth evermore, — 
To every foul that liveth 

Abundance flowing o'er ! 
For every foul He filleth 

With manna from above, 
And over all diftilleth 

The uncYion of His love. 

Then gather, Chrivtians, gather 

To praife with heart and voice 
The good Almighty Father, 

Who biddeth you rejoice : 
For He hath turned the fadnefs 

Of his children into mirth, 
And we will ling with gladnefs 

The harveft-home of earth ! 



gtto%r Jarbcst f pit, 

1849. 

Again, through every county 

Of Britain's happy fhores 
The Great Creator's bounty 

Unflinted plenty pours; 
Again to Him returning 

In thankfulnefs we raife, 
Our hearts within us burning, 

The facrifice of praife. 

O great as is Thy glory, 

Thy goodnefs doth excel ! 
What harp can hymn the ftory r 

What tongue the tale can tell ? 
The boundlefs breadth of Nature 

Is fpread beneath Thy throne, 
And every living creature 

Is fed by Thee alone ! 

Rejoice ! for overflowing 

Is each abundant field 5 
The Lord has blefl the fowing, 

The Lord has blefl the yield : 
The mower has mown double, 

The reaper doubly reap'd, 
And from the ihining ftubble 

Her head the gleaner heap'd. 



Another Harve/l Hymn. 141 

Rejoice ! for mercy bleffes, 

And judgment fmites no more ; 
The God of grace potteries 

Araunah's threfhing-floor : 
The gains of honeft labour 

Are mower' d from above, 
And neighbour looks on neighbour 

In happinefs and love. 

O men of all conditions. 

The high or humbly-born, — 
Away with low leditions ! 

Away with lofty fcorn ! 
Mix kindly with each other, — 

For God has given to all 
The common name of brother, 

And gladdens great and fmall. 

And Erin ! thou that narvefi 
' So patient on thy fod, — 
To thee, to thee, this harveir. 

Is come, the gift of God ! 
Cheer up, though woes opprefs thee ; 

Be diligent and true ; 
And, with thy Queen to blefs thee, 

Her King shall bless thee too ! 



Jinn! 

THE FIRST RIFLE BALLAD, JANUARY, 18^2, 

Englishmen up ! make ready your rifles ! 

Who can tell now what a day may bring forth ' 
Patch up all quarrels, and flick at no trifles,— 

Let the world fee what your loyalty 's worth ! 
Loyalty ? — felflfhnefs, cowardice, terror 

Stoutly will multiply loyalty's fum, 
When to aftoniih prefumption and error, 

Soon the fhout rifes, — the brigands are come ! 

Cannot we fee them ? — impatiently waiting, 

Hundreds of thoufands, all hungry for fpoil, 
Breathing out flaughter, and bitterly hating 

Britain and all that is born of her foil ! 
Jefait priefls and praetorian legions 

Clamour like hounds to be loofed on the prey, 
Eager to devaftate Proteflant regions, 

And to take vengeance for Waterloo day ! 



If the Kite wants to be counted an Eagle, 
What can he better be fcheming than this,- 

While a falfe peace our minds may inveigle, 
And we are fold to a Judas's kifs ? 



Suddenly, fecretly, boldly he '11 do it ! 

And the fharp fword, that will ravage the coafts, 
Then lhall run into the land, and go through it, 

If Britain fleeps at her fentinel-pofts ! 

Markfmen afhore ! make ready, make ready ! 

Honeft men flumber, but thieves are aftir ; 
Steamers afloat, — be llirring and Heady ! 

All will be loft, if your vigilance err : 
Every one, — fporting or fpinning or farming, 

Wifely defend what you have while you can, 
Steadily drilling, and fturdily arming, 

That you may fight for the right like a man ! 

Think of the rapine, the flames, and the Slaughter, 

If the fierce Algerine-Frenchman here flood ! 
Think, if you dare, of your wife and your daughter, 

Think of your little ones choked in their blood! 
What ! — is the wolf fo fqueamiih and tender 

As to be ftopp'd by a peacemonger's tear ? 
No ! — if it finds not a ftalwart defender 

Every man's home is a Golgotha here ! 

Up, then, and Arm ! it is wifdom and duty * 

We are too tempting a prize to be weak : 
Lo, what a pillage of riches and beauty, 

Glories to gain, and revenges to wreak ! 
Run for your rifles, and ftand to your drilling 5 

Let not the wolf have his will, as he might 
If, in the midft of their trading and tilling, 

Englifhmen cannot — or care not to — fight ! 



TO SUNDRY WHO OBJECT TO " ARM. 

What ! will they tell us that timely precaution 

Caufes the peril it ftrives to avoid ? 
Or that true fafety is found in proportion 

With the true danger of being deftroy'd ? 
What ! with the wolf looking over the hurdles 

Muftn't the fhepherd be loading his gun? 
Or, while his liver with cowardice curdles, 

Should he cry Welcome, — and prudently run ? 

Further, — they hint, becaufe England is waking, 

This is a challenge, an infult, a threat, — 
That we affront them and taunt them, by taking 

Rational means for fecurity yet : 
Ha ! they would rather ftill fee us all fleeping, 

Then, as on Corinth and Carthage of old, 
Secretly creeping, and fuddenly leaping, 

Teach us — how kind is the wolf to the fold ! 

No ! let us all, — as erft we were bowmen 
When a Firft Richard or Edward was king, 

Now be found ready to fcare away foemen, 
True with the trigger, as once with the firing ! 



Not like your fuglemen dreffers and drillers 

Tailor' d and trufTed, and made ufelefs the while, 

But as Hern refolute rifle-Guerillas 
Able to pick off a man at a mile ! 

Think you thofe African-razzia heroes 

Would be as tame as they look at reviews ? 
Anything rather than — Guifes and Neroes, 

Playing at foldiering juft to amufe ? 
No, — in bad earneft for vengeance and plunder 

RuthlefTly would they be facking each farm, 
If we give way to the traitorous blunder 

That it is foolifh and timid to ARM ! 

Truly, we long to live kindly with neighbours ! 

Nobody dreams but of war as a curfe 3 
But in the middle of peaceable labours, 

Ifn't it wife to be ready for worfe ? 
Change is the nature of things as of feafons ; 

Change may be nearer than any one knows ; 
And for the heft, as the ftrongeft of reafons, 

Let us ftand ready for friends or — for foes ! 

ARM, then, at once ! if no one attack us, 

Better than well, for the rifle may ruft : 
But, if the pirates be coming to fack us, 

Level it calmly, — and God be your truft ! 
Only, while yet there 's a moment, be fteady; 

Skilfully, duteouily, quickly prepare, — 
Then with a nation of Riflemen ready, 

Nobody '11 come, — becaufe no one will dare 



( 14* ) 



%\t fast %m. 

Another year ? another year ! 

Who dare depend on other years r 
The judgment of this world is near, 

And all its children faint for fears : 
Famine, peftilence, and war, 

Mixt with praifes, prayers, and tears, 
Civil ftrife and focial jar, 

Spurr'd by pen, and ftirr'd by fword, 
Herald Him who comes from far 
In Elijah's fiery car, 

Our own returning Lord ! 

Look around, — the nations quail ! 

All the elements of ill 
Crowd like locufls on the gale 

And the dark horizon fill : 
Woe to earth, and all her feed ! 

Woe ! they run to ruin ftill : — 
He that runneth well may read 

Texts of truth the times afford, 
How, in earth's extreme!! need 
Cometh', cometh foon indeed 

Our own redeeming Lord ! 

Lo, the marvels pafling firange 
Every teeming minute brings $ 

Daily turns with fudden change 
The kaleidofccpe of things ; 



The Lafl Time. 147 



But the Ruler, juft and wife, 
Orders all, as King of kings, — 

Hark ! His thunders fhake the Ikies, 
Lo ! His vials are outpour'd ! 

Earth in bitter travail lies, 

And Creation groans and cries 
For our expected Lord ! 

Stand in courage. Hand in faith ! 

Tremble not as others may 5 
He that conquers hell and death 

Is the Friend of thofe who pray : 
And in this world's deftined woe 

He will fave His own alway 
From the trial's furnace glow, — 

Till the harveft all is ftored, 
Refcued from each earthly foe, 
And the terrible ones below, 

By our avenging Lord ! 

Yea, come quickly ! Saviour, come ! 

Take us to Thy glorious reft, 
All Thy children yearn for horne, 

Home, the heaven of Thy breaft ! 
Help, with inftant gracious aid ! 

That in juil affurance bleft 
We may watch — nor feel afraid — 

Every warning in Thy word, 
Signs and tokens all array' d 
In proof of that for which we pray'd,- 

The coming of the Lord ! 



( i4« ) 



tkx ife I 



Soul, be ftrong, whate'er betide, 
God himfelf is guard and guide, — 
With my Father at my fide, 
Never mind ! 

Clouds and darknefs hover near, 
Men's hearts failing them for fear, 
But be thou of right good cheer, 
Never mind ! 

Come what may, fome work is done, 
Praife the Father through the Son, 
Goals are gain'd and prizes won, 
Never mind ! 

And if now the fkies look black, 
All the paft behind my back 
Is a bright and bleifed track ; 
Never mind ! 

Stand in patient courage ftill, 
Working out thy Mailer's will, 
Compafs good, and conquer ill 5 
Never mind ! 



Rife, Britannia. 149 



Fight, for all their bullying boaft, 
Dark temptation's evil hoft, 
This is thy predefined poft; 
Never mind ! 

Be then tranquil as a dove ; 
Through thefe thunderclouds above 
Shines afar the heaven of love, — 
Never mind ! 



$i« t iritmiraal 

WRITTEN AND PRINTED IN 1 846, AND THEN HEADED 
BY A STRANGE ANTICIPATION, cc A STIRRING SONG 
FOR PATRIOTS IN THE YEAR i860." 

To the tune of" Wha ivouldna fight for Charlie.'''' 

Rise ! ye gallant youth of Britain, 

Gather to your country's call, 
On your hearts her name is written, 

Rife to help her, one and all ! 
Carl: away each feud and faction, 

Brood not over wrong nor ill, — 
Roufe your virtues into aclion, 

For we love our country Hill, — ■ 



150 Rife y Britannia. 



Hail, Britannia ! hail, Britannia ! 

Raife that thrilling fhout once more, 
Rife, Britannia ! Rule, Britannia ! 

Conqueror over fea and fhore ! 



France is coming, full of blufter, 

Hot to wipe away her ftain, 
Therefore, brothers, here we mufter 

Jull to give it her again ! 
And if foemen, blind with fury, 

Dare to crofs our ocean gulf, 
Wait not then for judge nor jury, — 

Shoot them as you would a wolf! 
For Britannia, juft Britannia, 

Claims our chorus as before, 
Rife, Britannia ! Rule, Britannia ! 

Conqueror over fea and ihore ! 



They may writhe, for we have gall'd them 

With our guns in every clime, — 
They may hate us, for we call'd them 

Serfs and fubjects in old time ! 
Boafting Gaul, we calmly fcorn you 

As old JEfop's bull the frogs, 
Come, and welcome ! for, we warn you, 

We fhall fling you to our dogs ! 
For Britannia, our Britannia, 

Thunders with a lion's roar, 
Rife, Britannia ! Rule, Britannia ! 

Conqueror over fea and fhore. 



See uprear'd our holy ftandard ! 

Crowd around it, gallant hearts ! 
What ? mould Britain's fame be ilander'd 

As by fault on our parts ? 
Let the rabid Frenchman threaten, 

Let the mad invader come, 
We will hunt them out of Britain, 

Or can die for earth and home ! 
For Britannia, dear Britannia, 

Wakes our chorus evermore, 
Rife, Britannia ! Rule, Britannia ! 

Conqueror over fea and more. 

Rife, then, patriots ! name endearing, 

Flock from Scotland's moors and dales, 
From the green glad fields of Erin, 

From the mountain homes of Wales, — 
Rise ! for fitter England calls you, 

Rise ! our commonweal to ferve, 
Rise !• while now the fong enthrals you 

Thrilling every vein and nerve, 
Hail, Britannia ! hail, Britannia ! 

Conquer, as thou didrl: of yore ! 
Rife, Britannia ! Rule, Britannia ! 

Over every fea and more. 



%\t Emigrant $$$. 

Far away, far away, 
The emigrant mip mufl fail to-day : 

Cruel fhip, — to look fo gay 
Bearing the exiles far away. 

Sad and fore, fad and fore, 
Many a fond heart bleeds at the core : 

Cruel dread, — to meet no more, 
Bitter forrow, fad and fore. 

Many years, many years, 
At bell will they battle with perils and fears : 

Cruel pilot, — for he fleers 
The exiles away for many years. 

Long ago, long ago ! 
For the days that are gone their tears fliall flow : 

Cruel hour, — to tear them fo 
From all they cheriih'd long ago. 

Fare ye well, fare ye well ! 
To joy and to hope it founds as a knell : 

Cruel tale it were to tell 
How the exile fighs farewell. 



Individuality. 153 



Far away, far away ! 
Is there indeed no hope to-day ? 

Cruel and falfe it were to fay 
There are no pleafures far away. 

Far away, far away ! 
Every night and every day 

Kind and wife it were to pray, 
God be with them far away ! 



InMbitalitg, 



Measure not thyfelf with others, — 

Heed the work thou haft to do ; 
Each man's duty, not his brother's, 

Is his goal to keep in view : 
Nature, circumftance, and ftation, 

With what God from each exacls 
As his tribute to Creation, 

Thefe decide our aims and acts. 

Every creature fitly fafhion'd 

Hath its being's final caufe ; 
And our minds and hearts impaflion'd 

Beat with individual laws : 
All are various, differing meafures 

Fill us each with power to work, 
And the fpirit's fpecial treafures 

Latent in each bofom lurk. 



154 Individuality. 



How fliouldft thou declare the caufes 

That have wrought thy brother thus ? 
Plaftic Wifdom never paufes 

In fuch modelling of us : 
How canft thou fuggeft the reafons 

For his bafer life or lot ? 
Matter has its changing feafons, 

Why fhould fpirit vary not ? 

Shall the Ardic blame the Torrid ? 

Shall the Eaft defame the Weft ? 
Shall the foot rebuke the forehead 

That it thinks in lazy reft ? 
Every creature to its million, 

Every bullet to its mark, 
Every man in his condition 

Wanted for the Church's Ark ! 

Scorn not, — envy not, — and judge not : 

Scorn is Folly's cruel wife 5 
And, for Envy, — Churl, begrudge not 

Some poor brother's luck in life -, 
And, for Judgment, — to our Mafter 

Singly we muft ftand or fall j 
Life's Foreknower, and Forecafter, 

Wills and weighs, and fhapes it all ! 



%\t gssnnrace xrf %mm. 

I have achieved a tower of fame 

More durable than gold, 
And loftier than the royal frame 

Of Pyramids of old, — 
Which none inclemencies of clime, 

Nor flercefl winds that blow, 
Nor endlefs change, nor lapfe of time, 

Shall ever overthrow ! 

I cannot perifh utterly : 

The brighter part of me 
Muft live — and live — and never die, 

But baffle Death's decree ! 
Fori lriall always grow, and fpread 

My new-blown honours Hill, 
Long as the prieft and veflal tread 

The Capitolian hill. 

I ihall be fung, where thy rough waves, 

My native river, foam, — 
And where old Daunus fcantly laves 

And rules his ruflic home ; 
As chief and firft I mail be fung, 

Though lowly, great in might 
To tune my country's heart and tongue, 

And tune them both aright. 



Thou then, my foul, affurae thy ftate, 

And take thine honours due ; 
Be proud, as thy deferts are great, — 

To thine own praife be true ! 
Thou too, celeftial Mufe, come down, 

And with kind hafle prepare 
The laurel for a Delphic crown 

To weave thy Poet's hair. 



Will none befriend that poor dumb brute, 

Will no man refcue him ? — 
With weaker effort, gafping, mute, 

He {trains in every limb ; 

Spare him, O fpare : — he feels, — he feels ! 

Big tears roll from his eyes 5 
Another crufhing blow ! — he reels, 

Staggers, — and falls, — and dies. 

Poor jaded horfe, my blood runs cold 

Thy guiltlefs wrongs to fee 5 
To heav'n, O ftarv'd one, lame and old, 

Thy dim eye pleads for thee. 

Thou too, O dog, whofe faithful zeal 
Fawns on fome ruffian grim, — 

He ftripes thy fkin with many a weal, 
And yet, — thou lovefl him. 



Shame ! that of all the living chain 

That links Creation's plan, 
There is but one delights in pain, 

The favage monarch, — man ! 

O cruelty, — who could rehearfe 

Thy million difmal deeds, 
Or track the workings of the curfe 

By which all nature bleeds ? 

Thou meanefl crime, — thou coward fin, — 

Thou bafe, flint-hearted vice, — 
Scorpion ! — to fling thy heart within 

Thyfelffhall all fuffice 5 

The mercilefs is doubly curfl, 

As mercy is " twice blefl 5" 
Vengeance, though flow, fhall come, — but firfl 

The vengeance of the breafl ! 

Why add another woe to life, 

Man, — are there not enough ? 
Why lay thy weapon to the ilrife ? 

Why make the road more rough ? 

Faint, hunger-fick, old, blind, and ill, 

The poor, or man or beaft, 
Can battle on with life uphill, 

And bear its griefs at leaft ; 

Truly, their cup of gall o'erflows ! 

But, when the fpite of men 
Adds poifon to the draught of woes, 

Who, who can drink it then ? 



Heard ye that iliriek ? — O wretch, forbear, 
Fling down thy bloody knife : 

In fear, if not in pity, fpare 
A woman, and a wife ! 

For thee fhe toils, unchiding, mild, 

And for thy children wan, 
Beaten and ftarved, with famine wild, 

To feafl thee, monfter man : 

Hufband and father, — drunkard, fiend ! 

Thy wife's, thy children's moan 
Has won for innocence a Friend, 

Has reach 'd thy Judge's throne -, 

Their lives thou madefl fad • but worfe 

Thy deathlefs doom fhall be, 
" No mercy " is the withering curfe 

Thy Judge hath paffed on thee : 

Heap on, — heap on, frefh torments add, — 

New fchemes of torture plan, 
No mercy ! Mercy's felf is glad 

To damn the cruel man. 

God ! God ! Thy whole creation groans, 
Thy fair world writhes in pain j 

Shall the dread incenfe of its moans 
Arife to Thee in vain ? 

The hollow eye of famine pleads, 

The face with weeping pale, 
The heart that all in fecret bleeds, 

The grief that tells no tale, 



Old Haunts. 159 



Oppreflion's victim, weak and mild, 
Scarce fhrinking from the blow, 

And the poor wearied factory child, 
Join in the dirge of woe. 

O cruel world ! O fickening fear 
Of goad, or knife, or thong ; 

O load of evils ill to bear ! 

— How long, good God, how long ? 



®Ifo f Witt*. 

FOR MUSIC. 

I love to linger on my track 

Wherever I have dwelt and parted -, 
In after years to loiter back, 

And feel as once I felt — young-hearted ! 
My foot falls lightly on the fward 

Yet leaves a deathlefs dint behind it, 
With tendernefs I Hill regard 

Its unforgotten print, to find it ! 

Old places have a charm for me 

The new cannot porTefs, for ever, 
Old faces — how I long to fee 

Thofe looks that here fhall blefs me never ! 
Yet, thefe are gone : — while all around 

Is changing with this changing hour, 
I '11 anchor en the folid ground, 

And root my memories there in power ! 



Harmless, happy little treafures, 
Full of truth, and truft, and mirth, 

Richer! wealth and purer! pleafures 
In this mean and guilty earth, — 

How I love you, pretty creatures, 
Lamb-like flock of little things, 

Where the love that lights your features 
From the heart in beauty fprings : 

On thefe laughing rofy faces 
There are no deep lines of fin, 

None of paflion's dreary traces 
That betray the wounds within ; 

But yours is the funny dimple 
Radiant with un tutor' d fmiles, 

Yours the heart, iincere and fimple, 
Innocent of felfiih wiles ; 

Yours the natural curling trefTes, 
Prattling tongues and fhynefs coy, 

Tottering Heps, and kind careffes, 

Pure with health, and warm with joy. 



Children. 1 6 1 



The dull Haves of gain, or pallion 
Cannot love yon as they fhould, 

The poor worldly fools of fafhion 
Would not love you if they could : 

Write them childlefs, thofe cold-hearted, 
Who can fcorn Thy generous boon, 

And whofe fouls with fear have fmarted, 
Left — Thy bleffings come too foon. 

While he hath a child to love him 
No man can be poor indeed, 

While he trufts a Friend above him, 
None can forrow, fear, or need. 

But for thee whofe hearth is lonely 
And unwarm'd by children's mirth, 

Spite of riches, thou art only 
Defolate and poor on earth : 

All unkifT'd by innocent beauty, 
All unloved by guilelefs heart, 

All uncheer'd by fweetefl duty, — 
Childlefs one, how poor thou art ! 



gttuns, 

A dream — myfterious word, a dream ! 

What joys and forrows are enihrined 
In thofe dark hours we fondly deem 

A playtime for the truant mind : 

It is a happy thing to dream 

When rofy thoughts and virions bright 
Pour on the foul a golden flream 

Of rich luxurious delight 5 

It is a weary thing to dream, 

When from the hot and aching brain 

As from a boiling caldron fleam 
The myriad forms in fancy's train ; 

It is a curious thing to dream, 

When fhapes grotefque of all quaint things 
Like laughing water-witches feem 

To fport in reafon's turbid fprings ; 

It is a glorious thing to dream, 

When full of wings and full of eyes 

Borne on the whirlwind or funbeam 
We race along the ftartled ikies 5 



Infant Chriji, with Flowers. 163 

It is a wondrous thing to dream 

Of tumbling with a fearful thock 
From fome tall cliff where eagles fcream, 

— To light upon a feather rock -, 

It is a terrible thing to dream 

Of flrangled throats, and heart-blood fpilt, 
And ghoils that in the darknefs gleam, 

And horrid eyes of midnight guilt : — 

Who fhall tell me what I dream ? 

Ages lingering in a night, — 
Thronging thoughts of things thatteem 

With wonder, terror, and delight ! 

1830. 



Infant Cljrisi, toitjj $latoenL 

Yes, — I can fancy, in the fpring 
Of childhood's funny hours, 

That Nature's infant Prielt and King 
Loved to gaze on flowers -, 

For lightly, 'mid the wreck of all, 
When torn from Eden's bowers, 

Above the billows of the fall 
Floated gentle flowers : 



164 Infant Chrijl, with Flowers. 

Unfallen, finlefs, undeflled, 

Frefh bathed in fummer fhowers, 

What wonder that the holy Child 
Loved to play with flowers ? 

In thefe He faw His Father's face, 
All Godhead's varied powers, 

And joy'd each attribute to trace 
In fweet unconfcious flowers : 

In thefe He found where Wifdom hides 
And modeft Beauty cowers, 

And where Omnipotence refides, 
And Tendernefs, — in flowers ! 

Innocent Child, a little while, 

Ere yet the temper!: lowers, 
Bafk Thy young heart in Nature's fmile, 

Her lovely fmile of flowers \ 

Thy young heart, — is it not array' d 

In feelings fuch as ours ? — 
Yes, being now of thorns afraid, 

I fee Thee crown' d with flowers. 

1830. 



( 1 65 ) 



|fotob2 Jftelij or tes ! 

The world is dying, its heart is cold, 

And well-nigh frozen dead, — 
A forrowful thing it is to grow old, 

With all the feelings fled, — 
Dull are its eyes, and difmal its voice, 

And a mourner's cloak it wears, 
For all have forgotten to love or rejoice, — 

Nobody feels or cares. 

Time was, when zeal and honour and joy, 

And charities cheering life, 
Mix'd grains of gold with the mafs of alloy, 

And flarr'd this night of ftrife 5 
But now, it is all for a man's own felf, 

And not how his neighbour fares ; 
Except for pleafure, and pride, and pelf, 

Nobody feels or cares. 

Be wife, or a fool, — be good or be bad, 

To others it 's much the fame 5 
They heed not a whit if you 're merry or fad, 

Or worthy of praife or blame : 
The world is reaping its broadcaft feed 

Of briers and thorns and tares, 
And the only word in which all are agreed 

Is — Nobody feels or cares ! 



pto joints. 



It is not Time, — I joy to fee 

My children growing up ; 
It is not Sin, — remorfe for me 

Holds out no bitter cup j 
Nor doth Mammon's dreary din 
Add its gloom to Time or Sin. 

It is not that the Pari: was fweet, — 

Many griefs were there 5 
It is not that the Future's feet 

Are flirouded up in care $ 
Providence is wife, and kind, 
And I am ftrong for heart and mind. 

Why, then, be fad ? why thus, my heart, 

Difquieted within ? 
Great is the mercy that thou art 

Unfcared by care and fin 5 
That Time to thee has fmall alloy, 
And Memory's thoughts are thoughts of joy. 

Why, then, fo fad ? — My friends of old 
Are dead and gone, or changed ; 

The poor dear nefl: of home is cold, 
And each old haunt eftranged 5 

So that I walk a flranger there, 

With none to feel for how I fare ! 



Canterbury Pilgrims. 167 

True, — many new-found friends may throng, 

And make a palling lhow j 
But ever as they ftream along 

Like dreams they come and go, — 
And, — however kind they be, 
They bring not back the Part, to me ! 



totertarjj pilgrims. 

A " GOD SPEED." 

Heaven fpeed you, noble band ! 
Link'd together, heart and hand, 
Sworn to feek that far-off land, 

Canterbury pilgrims,- 
Heaven fpeed you ! brothers brave, 
Waft you well by wind and wave ; 
Heaven fhield you ! Heaven fave ! 

Canterbury pilgrims ! 

Like a queen of fwarming bees, 
England, hived amid the feas, 
Sends you by a favouring breeze, 

Canterbury pilgrims, - 
With a mother's tender care, 
To her fouthern fitter there, 
Her young fifter, frefh and fair, 

Canterbury pilgrims 



Frefh the foil, and fair the clime, 
Lightly touch' d by toil or time, 
Scarcely tinged with care or crime, 

Canterbury pilgrims,- 
Go then, cheerfully go forth ! 
Haflen to replenifh earth 
With Old England's honefi worth, 

Canterbury pilgrims ! 

Ay — with induftry — for gold, 
Godliness — for wealth untold, 
Go, in Chriftian duty bold, 

Canterbury pilgrims,- 
Glad New Zealand bids you fhare 
Each man plenty, and to fpare, — 
God be with you then and there, 

Canterbury pilgrims ! 



A SONG FOR THE ANTIPODES. 

Queen of the South ! which the mighty Pacific 

Claims for its Britain in ages to be, 
Bright with fair vifions and hopes beatific, 

Glorious and happy thy future I fee ! 
Thither the children of England are thronging, 

There for true riches fecurely to fearch ; 
Not for thy gold, California, longing, 

But for fweet home, with enough, and a Church ! 



New Zealand. 169 



There, a foft clime, and a foil ever teeming 

Summer's December, and Winter's July, 
The bright Southern Crofs in the firmament gleaming, 

The Dove, and the Crown, and the Altar on high, — 
There, the broad prairies with forefl and river, 

There, the fafe harbours are bidding men fearch 
For Thy beft bleffings, O heavenly Giver ! 

Home, with enough, and an Englishman's Church ! 

Yes 5 for Britannia, the Mother of Nations, 

Sends out her children, as teeming old Greece, 
Good men and great men, to Hand in their ftations, 

Merchants of plenty, and heralds of peace : 
Stout Anglo-Saxons ! Port Victory calls you ; 

Take the glad omen, and fpeedily fearch 
Where you fhall gather, whatever befalls you, 

Truer! of treafures, a Home and a Church ! 

Fifty years hence, — look forward and fee it, 

Realm of New Zealand, what then ihalt thou fee ? 
(Tf the world lives, at The Father's So be it) 

All fhall be greatnefs and glory with thee ! 
Even fhould Britain's decay be down-written 

In the dread doom-book that no man may fearch, 
Still ihall an Oxford, a London, a Britain, 

Gladden the South with a Home and a Church ! 



( i7° ) 



%\t falnram's $alfafr. 

Fair work for fair wages ! — it 's all that we alk. 

An Englishman loves what is fair, — 
We'll never complain of the toil or the talk, 

If livelihood comes with the care -, 
Fair work for fair wages ! — we hope nothing elfe 

Of the mill, or the forge, or the foil, 
For the rich man who bays, and the poor man who fells, 

Mull pay and be paid for his toil. 

Fair work for fair wages ! — we know that the claim 

Is jufl between mailer and man ; 
If the tables were turn'd we would ferve him the fame, 

And promife we will when we can : 
We give to him induflry, mufcle, and thew, 

And heartily work for his wealth ; 
So he will as honeflly give what is due, 

Fair wages for labour in health. 

Enough for the day, and a bit to put by 

Againlt illnefs, and llacknefs, and age ; 
For change and misfortune are ever too nigh 

Alike to the fool and the fage 5 
But the fool in his harvelt will wanton and walie, 

Forgetting the winter once more, 
While true Britilh wifdom will timely make hafte 

And fave for the "bafket and ftore !" 



"The Labourer s Ballad. 171 

Ay; wantonnefs freezes to want, be affured, 

And drinking makes nothing to eat, 
And penury's wafting by wafte is fecured, 

And luxury ftarves in the ftreet ! 
And many a father with little ones pale, 

So rack'd by his cares and his pains, 
Might now be all right if, when hearty and hale, 

He never had fquander'd his gains ! 

We know that profperity's glittering fun 

Can fbine but a little, and then 
The harvefi is over, the fummer is done, 

Alike for the maft and men : 
If the factory fhip with its Captain on board 

Muft beat in adverfity's waves, 
One lot is for all ! — for the great cotton lord 

And the poorer! of Commerce's flaves 5 

One lot! if extravagance reign'd in the home, 

Then poverty's wormwood and gall 3 
If rational forefight of evils to come, 

A cheerful complacence in all : 
For fweet is the morfel that diligence earn'd, 

And fweeter, that prudence put by; 
And leffons of peace in affliction are learn'd, 

And wifdom that comes from on high ! 

For God, in his providence ruling above, 

And piloting all things below, 
Is ever unchangeable juftice and love, 

In ordering welfare or woe : 



172 The Labourer s Ballad. 

He bleffes the prudent for heaven and earth, 
And gladdens the good at all times, — 

But frowns on the finner, and darkens his mirth, 
And lames his follies and crimes. 

Alas ! for the babes, and the poor pallid wife 

Hurl'd down with the fot to defpair, — 
Yet, — God fhall reward in a happier life 

Their punifhment, patience, and pray'r ! 
But woe to the caitiff, who, ftarved by his drinks, 

Was ftarving his children as well, — 
O man, break away from the treacherous links 

Of a chain that will drag you to Hell ! 

Come along, come along, man ! it 's never too late, 

Though drowning, we throw you a rope ! 
Be quick and be quit of fo fearful a fate, 

For while there is life there is hope ! 
So wifely come with us, and work like the reft, 

And fave of your pay while you can ; 
And Heaven will blefs you for doing your beft, 

And helping yourfelf like a man. 

For Labour is money, and Labour is health, 

And Labour is duty on earth 5 
And never was honour, or wifdom, or wealth, 

But Labour has been at its birth ! 
The rich, — in his father, his friend, or himfelf, 

By head or by hand murl: have toil'd, 
And the brow that is canopied over with pelf, 

By Labour's own fweat has been foil'd ! 



Pent in wynds and clofes narrow, 

Breathing peftilential air, 
Crufh'd beneath oppreilion's harrow, 

Faint with famine, bow'd with care,- 
Gaunt Affliction's fons and daughters ! 

Why fo flow to hear the call 
Which The Voice upon the waters 

Preaches folemnly to all r 

Hark ! Did Ocean's tongue of thunder 

Hoarfely calling bids you fpeed 
To the fliores he held afunder 

Only for thefe times of need ; 
Now, upon his friendly furges 

Ever, ever roaring Come, 
All the fons of hope he urges 

To a new, a richer home ! 

England and her fea-girt filters 

Pine for want in feeming wealth ; 
Though the gaudy furface glifters, 

This is not the hue of health. 
Oh ! the honeft labour trying 

Vainly here to earn its bread, — 
Oh ! the willing workers dying, 

Unemploy'd, untaught, unfed ! 



174 ^^e New Home. 



Thoufand fights that melt to pity, — 

Move to fear, or — tempt to fcorn ! 
Wretched fwarms in field and city, 

Wherefore are thefe paupers born ! — 
Shall I tell you, heirs of pleafure ? 

Shall I teach you, fons of pain ? 
Unto both, each in his meafure, 

Stir I now this earner!: ftrain. 

Lo ! to every human creature 

Born upon this bounteous earth, 
Speaks the God of grace and nature, 

Speaks for plenty or for dearth : 
Till the ground ; if not, thou ftarvefl 5 

Fear fhall drive to duteous toil : 
Till the ground ; a golden harvefl 

Then fhall wave on every foil ! 

And behold ! the King All-glorious 

Unto Britain tythes the world, — 
Everywhere her crown victorious, 

Everywhere her crofs unfurl' d ! 
God hath given her diflant regions, 

Broad and rich ; and flore of fhips ; 
God hath added homeborn legions, 

Steep' d in trouble to the lips ! 

Join, then, in one holy tether 
Thofe whom man hath put afide, 

Thofe whom God would link together, 
Earth and labour well-applied : 



The New Home. 



l 7S 



Ho ! thou vaft and wealthy nation, 
Wing thy fleets to every place, 

Fertiliiing all Creation 

With the Anglo-Saxon race ! 

England's frank and lturdy bearing, 

Scotland's judgment, true and tried, 
Erin's headlong headlining daring, 

And the Welfhman's honefr. pride ; — 
Send thefe forth, and tame the favage, 

Sow his realms with Britifh homes, 
Where till now wild monfters ravage, 

Or the wilder Buihman roams. 

Let, as erft in Magna Graecia, 

Nobles, fages, join the ranks ; 
And for vacant Aultral-Afia 

Leave for good thefe f warming banks ; 
Not as exiled, — but with honour, 

Told in tale, and fung in fong ; 
With the Queen, — God's bleffing on her !- 

Speeding this good work along. 

Then the wildernefs fhall blorTom, 

And the defert, as the rofe 5 
While dear Earth's maternal bofom 

With abundance overflows : 
Then (hall Britain gladly number 

Crowds of children, now her dread, 
That her onward march encumber 

With the living and — the dead ! 



176 The New Home. 



Ay ! for bitter is the conteft 

As a ftruggle, life for life, 
Where the very meal thou wanteft 

Was for little ones and wife, — 
Where they flowly pine and perifh 

That the father may be ftrong, 
Some tafkmafter's wealth to cherifh, 

By his labour, right or wrong ! 

Hafte, then, all ye better natures, 

Help in what muft blefs the World : 
See, thofe cellar-crowded creatures 

To Defpair's own dungeon hurl'dj — 
Send — or lead them o'er the waters 

To the genial fhores, that give 
Britain's facred fons and daughters 

Man's great privilege — to Live ! 

There, — inftead of fcanty wages, 

Grinding rent and parifli tax, — 
In the wood, unheard for ages, 

Rings the cheerful freeman's axe 5 
Whilft in yonder cozy clearing, 

Home, fweet Home, rejoices life, 
Full of thoughts and things endearing, 

Merry babes and rofy wife. 

There, — inftead of feftering alleys, 
Noifome dirt, and gnawing dearth,— 

Sunny hills and fmiling valleys 

Wait to yield the wealth of Earth ! 



Pauper Burials. ijj 



All She afks is — human labour, 
Healthy in the open air -, 

AH me gives is — every neighbour 
Wealthy, hale, and happy There ! 



janper §rals. 



O cruel tender mercies of the bad ! 

O foolifh wifdom of the mean and bafe ! 
Alas for charities that make men fad, 

And harden into brutes the human race ! 
From fuch philanthropy defend us,. Heaven, — 

From Hatefmanfhip like this for evermore 
Refcue, untainted by fuch bitter leaven, 

The wholefome natures of our honeft poor ! 

What, — is it not enough through life to brand 

With that un-Engliih word a i( pauper's " name 
Each aged rural worthy of the land, 

DrerTed in the dull drab livery of fhame, — 
To tear him from his home and bairns and wife, 

And. ufe him in the workhoufe as a flave, 
Till having water-gruel' d him from life, 

You hide his parifh coffin in the grave ? 

No ! now, it feems, to hold our "paupers " dead, 
That pauper burial-places mull be found, 

To ftigmatife, — albeit the fpirit 's fled, — 
The poor man's body rotting underground ! 



For deeper fcorn to make his widow weep, 

His cowering orphans flirink for humbler fhame, 

Becaufe, ay even in his laft long fleep, 

Your mercies blight their pauper father's name ! 

Dear Englifh poor! this wrong fhall never be, 

Whatever hardfhip elfe your lot befall , 
The grave at leail from tyrants fhall be free, 

An honourable open bed for all : 
Six feet in his churchyard, that hallow'd fpot, 

Is due of common right to every man 
Gone to the bourn where Mammon bleffes not, 

And where Its curfes may no longer ban. 

Ay ! we will have no Golgothas forfooth, 

No potters' fields to bury ftrangers in, 
No fkull-places for tyranny's hard tooth, 

Where that hyena Hill may gnaw and grin, — 
Death, the Deliverer, fhall be fanctified, 

In poor men's bodies as in rich men's bones, 
And poverty lhall lie " my lords " beflde, 

E'en though in life for bread they gave himftones. 

Enough ! if indignation fires my heart, 

I burn as univerfal England will, 
When, finding out the central fpider's art, 

We tear to fhreds his defpot-web of lkill : 
Hear, fhallow Statefman ! differences ceafe. 

Where for a foul earth's trial fcene is o'er ; 
And fo our brother, dead at laft in peace, 

Is Equal Man, a pauper now no more. 



%, Wetti of H&ftnr. 

Make the bell of all things, 

As thy lot is call ? 
Whatfoe'er we call things 

All is well at laft, 
If meanwhile, in cheerful power, 
Patience rules the fuffering hour. 

Make the beft of all things, — 

Howfoe'er they be 3 
Change may well befall things 

If it 's ill with thee ; 
And if well, this prefent joy 
Let no future fears deftroy. 

Make the beft of all things, — 
That is Wifdom's word ; 

In the day of fmall things 
Is its comfort heard, — 

And its blefling foothes not lefs 

Any heyday of fuccefs. 

Make the beft of all things ; 

Difcontent's old leaven 
Falfely would foreftall things 

Antedating heaven, — 
But fmile thou and reft content, 
Bearing trials wifely fent. 



At five on a dewy morning, 

Before the blazing day, 
To be up and off on a high-mettled horfe 

Over the hills away, — 
To drink the rich fweet breath of the gorfe 

And bathe in the breeze of the Downs, 
Ha ! man, if you can, match blifs like this 

In all the joys of towns ! 

With glad and grateful tongue to join 

The lark at his matin hymn, 
And thence on faith's own wing to fpring 

And ling with Cherubim ! 
To pray from a deep and tender heart, 

With all things praying anew, 
The birds and the bees, and the whifpering trees, 

And heather bedropt with dew, — 
To be one with thofe early worfhippers, 

And pour the carol too ! 

Then, off again with a flacken'd rein, 

And a bounding heart within, 
To da(h at a gallop over the plain, 

Health's golden cup to win ! 
This, this is the race for gain and grace 

Richer than vafes and crowns ; 



And you that boafl your pleafures the moll 

Amid the fleam of towns, 
Come, tafle true blifs in a morning like this, 

Galloping over the Downs ! 



The fea ripples bright, and the clouds fail high, 
And the fun fhines clear in the pure blue iky, 
And the pailoral valleys are laughingly gay, 
And the harvefl is blefl with a brilliant day, 
And off I flroll to the free fea-flde, 
For an agate hunt in the down-dropping tide. 

bright pebble-beach, jufl wet from the fea, 
Thy glittering jewels are waiting for me ! 
And, even if haply no jewels be there, 
Thefe grand red cliffs, and this fweet frefh air, 
And the rocks in feaweed tapeflry clad 

Are pearls to my fpirit, making me glad. 

Ah, Nature ! loveliefl when mofl wild, 
Own me, — for I am thine own fond child,— 

1 love thee in florm, I love thee in calm, 
And all thy folitudes are my balm, — 
But chiefefl I love to be lonely and free 
In my agate hunts by the fhore of the fea. 



Alone, — at the point of the fpear 

True Genius does battle, Alone, — 
Unhelp'd, and unhinder'd, by favour or fear, 

He wins what he wins as his own ; 
In fpite of his foes — and his friends, 

"With ftern felf- reliance he plans 
By means all his own to achieve all his ends, 

Alone,- — by God's help and not Man's ! 

Whatever was ever achieved 

Of Great in the world or of Good, 
Was never at firft by the many believed, 

But ever malign'd and withflood ; 
So, Genius goes on with a will, 

And Rurdily fights the good fight, 
Allured in himfelf that the victory ftill 

Shall Hand with the might and the right. 

And, when his great fight is well fought, 

A fight of hard flruggles and ftrong, 
The World, that hath never help'd Right as it ought, 

Will turn and repent of its wrong; 
But, utterly then will forget 

That, till the man made him a name, 
It never encouraged nor prophefied yet 

The greatnefs of Children of Fame. 



( i»3 ) 



The breezy Downs, and a fpirited horfe, 
And the honey'd breath of the golden gorfe, 
And tinkling bells of the bleating ewes, 
And a bright panorama of changing views, 
And all that is peaceful and cheerful befide, 

thefe I get in my Epfom Ride ! 

Fifteen glad miles, road, common, or dell, 
My pretty grey Brenda has carried me well, — 
And bleft be the calms and the folitudes there 
Among the young leaves in the fweet fpring air, 
And — hundreds of happieft thoughts befide 
Gallop' d with me in my Epfom ride ! 

Nothing reck I for the Race itfelf, 

Its rogues with their poifon, or fools with their pelf j 

And, as for its covetous follies and fins, 

1 care not a button which horfe wins, — 
Colours and riders and all befide 

Are nothing to me in my Epfom Ride ! 

But, friends at lunch in their dufty drags, 
And gay fatin jockeys on fwift fleek nags, 
And moving acres of human faces 
Watching their fate in the feverifh races, — 
Thefe are electric flaQies befide, 
Dotting the day of my Epfom Ride. 



Dream not thou that the day 's illfpent 5 

For my heart has been cheer' d, and my mind unbent, 

And here in the faddle coming along, 

I 've jotted you, friend, this Derby fong, 

To prove that Pegafus trotted befide 

My pretty grey mare in my Epfom Ride. 



FOR THE SOUTH INDIAN SCHOOL-BOOK. 

Would God the days indeed were paft 

When men and brethren fcorn'd each other ! 

Would God the hour was come at laft 
When man in man beheld a brother ! 

Alas, for hatreds ! and the dearth 
Of love, where fo much is forgiven ; 

Alas, that evil weeds of earth 

So choke the bleffed flowers of Heaven ! 

O Reafon, fling thofe thorns afide 

That fpoil the Chriftian tiller's labour : 

O Faith, arife to baffle pride, 

And teach us all to love our neighbour. 

Let no enlighten'd Brahmin's eyes 
Be bound by prejudice fo blindly, 

As the poor Sudra to defpife, — 
But look on even Pariahs kindly. 



Engli/h Spirit. 185 



Let none exclaim in boaft of birth, 
" Stand by thyfelf, for I am holy " — 

For God's Avatar when on earth 
Was only loving, meek, and lowly. 

His happy Gofpel urges all 

To live as brethren well and truly, 

For all were ruin'd by the Fall, 

And all may claim forgivenefs duly. 

Away, then, with thofe bitter feuds 
That clafs from clafs unjuitly fever- 

Exchange their banes for brotherhoods, 
And, Brethren ! be at one for ever. 

Away with Carte, the Simoom blaft. 

That muft each better feeling fmother,- 
Away with India's curfe of Cafte, 

And welcome every man a brother ! 



^nglisjj Spirit. 



When every parifh had its butt, 

And every man his bow, 
And billhook dealt a fabre-cut 

As well as faggot blow, 
No rafh invader threaten"' d then 

To fcare us with alarms, 
For Englishmen, as Englilhmen, 

Were famous men-at-arms. 



8 6 Englifh Spirit. 



But, fince the jealoufy of kings 

And clafs and party hate, 
And floth and mean peace-mongerings 

Had canker d us of late, 
On hireling regiments we hung, 

Defencelefs but for thofe : 
And to the lkirts of captains clung, 

As paid to fence with foes. 

But now, what Englifhmen were once 

We mall be fuch once more, — 
Our worthy fathers' worthy fons 

Will fentinel each fhore, 
And line each hedge, and man each height, 

And garrifon each grange, — 
And woe to every foreign wight 

Within our rifle range ! 

No daftard tongue ihall dare advife 

Subfervience to the foe, 
We '11 hang the quaking knave who tries 

A gentle front to fhow ; 
Our front fhows Death to every man 

Who dares our homes moleft; 
And we will kill him as we can, 

And, anyhow is befl ! 

Hide clofe, — look fharp, — behind a tree 

The rifle fureft hits $ 
And count it wife betimes to flee, 

As counfell'd by your wits : 



Engli/h Spirit. 187 



To flee, but not as cowards can, 

For fear of death or pain, 
But, which may well become a man, 

That you may fight again. 

No quarter, is the Patriot's word, 

If brigands dare the deed -, 
Not even Mercy mail be heard 

Where Juftice hath decreed, 
And fhould fome ikulking cravens think 

Submiffion would be wife, 
Such doctrines in our noflrils flink — 

To gibbets fhall they rife ! 

Strategy mall not make us flinch 

To (bit fome Horfe-Guards' plan, 
But field by field, and inch by inch, 

We '11 druggie man to man 5 
As individual prowefs may 

We \11 battle to the knife, 
And pirate hordes fhall pay their way 

At leaft with life for life ! 

O Mother England, true and dear, 

Free mother of free fons, 
Thou (halt not be imperill'd here 

By any traitorous ones ; 
Our fpirit is the fame as when 

Our fathers fining their bows, 
For half a million Englifhmen 

Point rifles at thy foes ! 



FOR MUSIC. 

From Arthur's myftic days, 
Through all the cycles fince, 
Never has lived a Name of praife 
To match our Blamelefs Prince ; 
All England's Great and Good 
Were fponfors to His fame, 
Alfred and pious Edward flood 

Hand-link'd to blefs That name ! 

O pure and generous Heart ! 

O wife and thoughtful Head ! — ■ 
Praifes to Heaven for all Thou art, 
The Living, not the Dead ! 
Yes, Albert, — Thou haft feen 
How truly England's love 
And the heart-homage of Thy Queen 
Have followed Thee Above ! 

And now, Thy Spirit freed, 
Is it not hovering nigh, 
To help us in our hallow'd deed 
And blefs us from on high ? 
Yes ! — happy, holy thought — 
Perchance Thy mufical hymn 
Mingled with ours from Heaven has caught 
The joys of Seraphim ! 



% pie |aM. 



King Alfred forth from Athelney leapt, 

'Twas a thoufand years ago, — 
Thofe pirates thought that the Lion had flept, 
Becaufe to his lair he fo quietly kept 5 
But out he lafh'd, and fuddenly fwept 

His den of the Danifh foe ! 

And brave Queen Befs, when at Tilbury Fort 

She rode out item and flow, 
Throng' d by her people, her guards, and her court, 
With Drake in the Channel, and Howard in port, 
O how that old Queen of the Pope made fport 

And jeer'd at a Spanifh foe ! 

And now, well mutter' d on common and heath, 

Victoria's fons will mow 
How wifely, though friends, we are arm'd to the teeth, 
And care for no power on earth, or beneath, — 
Should even a "faithful ally" flip fheath, 

And come fword in hand as a foe ! 

Ready, — ay, ready -, for freedom we Hand -, 

And fo the wide world fhall know 
That, girt by her children, one brotherly band, 
Riflemen fwarming all over the land, 
With plenty of Drakes in the Channel at hand, 

Old England fears no foe ! 



( *9° ) 



%\t %m of loitk 

A MILITARY BALLAD. 

Ye children of the veterans 

Who fought for faithlefs Spain, 
And for ungrateful Portugal 

Pour'd out their blood like rain, — - 
Come near me, and hear me, 

For I would tell you well 
How gallantly your fathers fought, 

Or gloriouily they fell ! 

I fing Roleia's bloody ftrife, 

The firlt of many frays, 
When iron Wellefley led us on, 

Invincible always -, 
Roleia, gay and evergreen, 

Feftoon'd with vines and flowers, 
Roleia, fcorch'd and blood-bedew 1 d, — 

And half that blood was ours ! 

The feventeenth of Auguft 

It fhone out bright and clear, 
And £1111 we prefTd the Frenchman's flank, 

And hung upon his rear; 
From Brilos and Obidos 

Had we driven the bold Laborde, 
And now among the mountain rocks 

We fought him with the fword ! 



The Battle ofRoleia. 191 

All golden is the plain with wheat, 

All purple are the hills 
With lufcious vineyards ripe and fweet, 

And laced with cryftal rills ; 
Yet muft the rills run down with gore, 

The corn be trampled red, 
Before Roleia's threfhing-floor 

Is glutted with her dead ! 

O cheerily the bugles fpoke, 

And all our hearts beat high 
When over Monte Junto broke 

The fun upon the iky ; 
Right early from Obidos 

We gladly fallied then 
A goodly hoft, in columns three, 

Of fourteen thoufand men. 

Brave Fergufon led on the left, 

And Trant the flanking right, 
With iron Arthur in the midft, 

The focus of the fight ; 
And faft by Welleiley's gallant fide 

The Craufurd rode amain, 
And Hill, the Britifh foldier's pride, 

And Nightingale, and Fane. 

Crouching like a tiger, 

In his high and rocky lair, 
The Frenchman howl'd and fhow'd his teeth 

And — wifti'd he wasn't there 3 



ig2 T/ie Battle of Roleia. 

For Craufurd, Hill, and Nightingale 

Flew at him as he lay, 
And up our gallant fellows fprang 

As bloodhounds on the prey. 

And look ! we hunt the bold Laborde 

To Zambugeira's height, — 
While Trant with Fane and Fergufon 

Outflank him left and right ; 
And then with cheers we charge the front, 

With cheers the foe reply, — 
No child's play was that battle brunt, 

We fwore to win or die ! 

Rattled loud the mufkets' roar, — 

We ftruggled man to man, — 
The rugged rocks were wafh'd in gore, 

With gore the gullies ran ! 
Fiercely through thofe mountain paths 

Our bloody way we force, — 
And find in ftrength upon the heights 

The Frenchman, foot and horfe : 

Ah, then, my Ninth, and Twenty-ninth, 

Your courage was too hot, 
For down on your diforder'd ranks 

Secure they pour the lhot 5 
But all their horfe and foot and guns 

Could never make you fly, — 
The lofing Frenchman fights and runs, 

But Britons fight — and die ! 



Waterloo. 193 



Up to the refcue, Fergufon ! 

And keep the hard-fought hill ; 
Their chiefs are pick'd off, one by one, 

And lo, they rally ftill; 
They rally, and rufh ftoutly on,— 

The bold Laborde gives way, — 
The day is loft ! the day is won ! 

And ours is the day ! 

Then well retreating, fage and flow, 

Alternately in mafs, 
With charging horfe, the wily foe 

Gains Runa's rocky pafs -, 
And left us thus Roleia's field, 

With other fields in flore, 
Vimeira, Torres Vedras, 

And half a hundred more ! 



WtitXlBB. 

A BALLAD FOR THE SOLDIER. 

Thermopylae and Cannae 

Were glorious fields of yore, 
Leonidas and Hannibal 

Right famous evermore ; 
But we can claim a nobler name, 

A field more glorious too. 
The chief who thus achieved for us 

Victorious Waterloo. 



1 94 Waterloo. 



Let others boaft of Caefar's hoft, 

Led on by Caefar's ikill, 
And how fierce Attila could rout, 

And Alaric could kill, — 
But we — right well, O hear me tell 

What Britifh troops can do, 
When marfhall'd by a Wellington 

To win a Waterloo ! 

Oh for a Pindar's harp to tune 

The triumphs of that day ! 
Oh for a Homer's pictured words 

To paint the fearful fray ! — 
Alas, my tongue and harp illflrung, 

In feeble tones and few, 
Hath little lkill, yet right good- will, 

To fing of Waterloo. 

Then gather round, my comrades, 

And hear a foldier tell 
How full of honour was the day 

When — every man did well ! 
And though a foldier' s fpeech be rough, 

His heart is hot and true, 
While thus he tells of Wellington 

At hard-fought Waterloo. 

Sublimely calm, our Iron Duke, 

A lion in his lair, 
Waited and watch'dwith fleeplefs eye 

To fee what France would dare j 



Waterloo. 195 



Nor deign' d to ftir from Brimels 

Until he furely knew 
The foe was milling on his fate 

At chofen Waterloo. 

What? ihould the hunter wafle his ftrength, 

Nor hold his good hounds back, 
Before he knows they near the foes 

And open on the track ? 
No : let " furprife " blight Frenchman's eyes, 

For truly they fhall rue 
The giant ikill that, Hern and mil, 

Drew them to Waterloo ! 

Hotly the couriers gallop up 

To Richmond's fefiive fcene, — 
Alone, alone the chieftain flood 

Undaunted and ferene ; 
Ready,, ready, — ftaunch and fleady, — 

And forth the orders flew 
That march' d us off to Quatre Bras 

And whelming Waterloo. 

Begin, begin with Quatre Bras, 

That twinborn field of flame, 
Where many a gallant deed was done 

By many a gallant name 5 
That battle-field, which feem'd to yield 

An earnefl and review 
Of all that Britifh courage dared 

And did at Waterloo. 



196 Waterloo. 



We heard from far old Blucher's guns. 

At Ligny's blazing ftreet, 
And hurried on to Weimar's aid, 

Right glad the foe to meet ; 
A fcore of miles to Quatre Bras 5 

But Hill to arms we flood, 
And cheerly ruih'd, without a paufe. . 

To win the Boifly wood : 

Then, jull like cowards, three to one, 

Before we could deploy, 
To crufh us, Ney and Excelmans 

Flew down with nendifh joy $ 
But ftout we Hood in hollow fquares, 

And fought, and kept the ground, 
While lancer fpears and cuiraffiers 

Were charging us all round ! 

Ay, ay, my men, we battled then 

Like wolves and bears at bay, 
And thoufands there among the dead 

With fable Brunfwick lay : 
And back to back in that attack 

The Ninety-fecond fought, — 
And " fteadily" the Twenty-eighth 

Behaved as Britons ought. 

Then up came Maitland with the Guards, 
Hurrah'! they clear the wood ; 

But Hill the furious Frenchmen charged, 
And flill we ftoutly ftood, 



Waterloo. 197 



Till gentle night drew on, and that 

Drew off the treacherous Ney, 
For when the morning dimly broke 

— The fox had Hole away ! 

Thus much, my lads, for Quatre Bras 5 

And now for Waterloo, 
Where lkill and courage did it all, 

With God's good help in view! 
For we were beardlefs raw recruits, 

And they, more numerous far, 
Were fierce muftachioed mighty men, 

The veterans of war. 

The God of battles helped us foon, 

As godlefs France drew nigh, 
— It was the great eighteenth of June, 

The fun was getting high, — 
And fuddenly two hundred guns 

At once with thundering throats 
Peal'd out their dreadful overture 

In deep volcano notes ! 

Then, by ten thoufands, horfe and foot, 

Came on the foaming Gaul, 
And Hill with briflling front we flood 

As folid as a wall : 
And flout Macdonnell's Hougoumont, 

The centre of the van, 
Was florm'd and florm'd and florm'd — in vain, 

— He held it like a man ! 



i 9 8 



Waterloo. 



O who can count the myriad deeds 

That hundreds did in fight ? 
Ponfonby falls, and Picton bleeds, 

And — both are quench 'd in night : 
And many a hero fubakern, 

And hero private too, 
Beat Ajax and Achilles both 

In winning Waterloo ! 

What fhall I fay on that dread day 

Of Ferrier and his band ? 
Ten times he chafed the foes away, 

And charged them fword in hand ; 
Six of thofe ten he led his men 

With blood upon his brow,- — 
And weakly in the eleventh died 

To live in glory now ! 

Or, give a ftave to Shaw the brave, 

— In death the hero fleeps, — 
Hemm'd by a fcore, he knock'd them o'er, 

And hewed them down in heaps $ 
Till, wearied out, the lion flout, 

Befet as by a pack 
Of hungry hounds, fell full of wounds, 

But none upon his back ! 

And Halkett then before his men 
Daih'd forward and made prize 

(While both the lines for wonderment 
Could fcarce believe their eyes) 



Waterloo. 



199 



Of a gaily plumed French general 

Haranguing his array! 
— But Halkett caught him, fpeech and all, 

And bore him right away ! 

Thee too, De Lancey, generous chief, 

For thee a niche be found, — 
Wounded to death, he fcorn'd relief 

Whilft others bled around : 
And D'Oyley and Fitzgerald died, 

Juft as the day was won, — 
And Gordon by his general's fide — 

The fide of Wellington ! 

And Somerfet and Uxbridge then 

Gave each a limb to death ; 
Curzon and Canning cheer'd their men 

With their laft dying breath -, 
And gallant Miller, ftricken fore, 

With fainting utterance cries, 
" Bring me my colours ! wave them o'er 

Your colonel till he dies !" 

Then furious wax'd the Emperor 

That Britons wouldn't run, 
" Les betes, pourquoi ne fuient-ils pas : 

Et done, ce Vellington?" 
But "Vellington " ftill holds his own 

For eight red hours and more, 
Why comes not Marfbal Blucher down ? 

— -Ha ! — there 's his cannons' roar, — 



200 Waterloo. 



' Up, Guards, and at them ! Charge !" — the word 

Like forked lightning paffes, 
And lance and bayonet and fword 

Ruih on in glittering maffes ! 
Back, back, the furging columns roll 

In terrified difmay, 
And onward fliout againfl the rout 

The conquerors of the day ! 

O now the tide of battle, 

Is turn'd to feas of blood, 
When cafe and grape-mot rattle 

Among the multitude, 
And Fates led on by Furies, 

Deftroy the flying holt, 
And Chaos, mated with Defpair, 

Makes all the loft mofl loft ! 

Woe, woe ! thou caitiff-hero, 

Thou Emperor — and flave, 
Why didft not thou, too, nobly bleed 

With thofe devoted brave ? 
No, no,— the recreant's thought was felf, 

And " Sauve qui peut !" his cry, 
And verily at Waterloo 

Did Great Napoleon die ! 

He died to fame, while yet his name 

Was on ten thoufand tongues, 
That trufted him, and pray'd to him, 

And — curled him for their wrongs ! 



Waterloo. 201 



O noble fouls ! Imperial Guard, 
Had your chief been but true, 

Ye would have flood and ftopp'd the rout 
At cruihing Waterloo ! 

Still as they fled from Wellington 

To Blucher's arms they flew $ 
Thefe two made up the Quatre Bras 

To clutch a Waterloo ! 
Ha ! Blucher's Pruffian vengeance 

Was fully fated then, 
When hated France upon the field 

Left forty thoufand men. 

Thus, comrades, hath a foldier told 

What Wellington's calm ikill, 
When help'd by troops of Britifh mould 

And God's Almighty will, 
Againft a Veteran triple force, 

On battle-field can do : — 
Then, three times three for Wellington, 

The Prince of Waterloo ! 



|l prg* for Welirngton. 

A voice of lamentation 

From the islands of the Sea ! 
Alas, thou forrowing Nation, 

Bereaved — alas for thee ! 
The wail as of a mother 

Weeping for her fon, — 
When fhall fhe bear another 

Like that illuftrious One ? 

O Britain, broken-hearted 

Bemoan the bitter day, — 
Thy Hero is departed, 

Thy Glory rent away : 
Alas! our joys are made to ceafe, 

Our praife of old is fled, 
Though firfl in war, and firft. in peace,- 

Our Wellington is dead ! 

Was he not both our torch of War, 

And Learning's peaceful lamp, 
Achilles in the battle-jar, 

And Neftor in the camp ? — 
Our light is from us taken 

To ihine in other ikies, 
And we are left, forfaken 

Of the valiant and the wife ! 



A Dirge for Wellington. 203 

How are the mighty fcatter'd, 

That have loll their iron lord ! 
The fpear and fhield are fhatter'd, 

The battle and the fword ! 
The Champion of all Europe's rights 

Is gone to his long reft, — 
The Hero of a hundred fights 

With endlefs Peace is bleft ! 

Arife, angelic keepers 

That watch the waiting dead -, 
And turn, ye filent fieepers, 

Upon your narrow bed ! 
Arife, — and to thofe fhadowy bands 

Make this great fpirit known, 
The Guardian mind of many lands, 

The Saviour of his own ! 

Mournfully, with meafured pace, 

The fad proceffion brings 
Our chieftain to the refting-place 

Of heroes and of kings -, 
And mournfully the minute gun 

Tolls out to earth and air 
The groans of Britain, one by one, 

The fobs of her defpair. 

Step by ftep, with pomp and plume, 

And black funereal ftate, 
In folemn progrefs to the tomb 

They reach the facred gate 3 



204 A Dirge for Wellington. 

Ye trumpets, hold your bated breath, 

Be frill, ye muffled drums, 
For to the hallow'd halls of Death 

The conquering hero comes ! 

Yea ! conquering ftill : — their leaden prifon 

(Through Him who died to fave) 
The dead fhall burfl, redeem'd and rifen 

Triumphant o'er the grave : 
The dead, — yea, this our Chief; though not 

By mortal might or power, 
But by God's Spirit, in his lot 

Shall fiand at that dread hour. 

Meekly with charitable gaze 

His faults or foibles fcan,- — 
For he might walk this earthly maze 

Not more, nor lefs, than man , 
Doubtlefs, he own'd to fins and wrongs 

Like all befide that live, — 
Yet unto us his good belongs, 

His ill — may God forgive ! 

But ftoutly too, with glad acclaim 

Tell out his honefl worth, — 
There never lived a child of fame 

More childlike on this earth ! 
Simple in heart, fincere in mind, 

Juft, refolute, and true, 
Duty was all he ftrove to find, 

And all he dared to do ! 



Duty, though Death were on the track, 

Though fcorn were in the way, 
Duty, though pleafure beckoned back, 

Or interefl lured aftray ; 
Duty, Great Chief ! thy glorious name 

Is link'd with Duty ftill, 
Through civic firife, and martial fame, 

Through good report and ill ! 

Oh, who fhall worthily record 

The trophies of his fame, 
The wifdom of his lightefb word, 

The weight of his great name r 
For kings and men of every clime 

Right nobly vied to raife 
His glory's monument fublime 

With pinnacles of praife ! 

Remember him, thou City 

Of perjured Sahib flain, 
How prompt his heart to pity, 

How glad to heal again -, 
Remember well his lightning eye, 

Falfe Scindiah, in that day 
When myriads could not fight nor fly 

The Viftorof Affaye ! 

Sad Lufitania ! loft and won 

In adverfe fortune's night, 
Remember him, whofe prefence fhone 

Thine Arbiter of Right ; 



206 A Dirge for Wellington. 

Remember him, thy conquering Chief 

In red Vimeira's day, — ■ 
His gauntlet wiped thy tears of grief, 

And fwept thy foes away ! 

O refcued Spain, confider flill 

His glorious deeds for thee, — 
The wonders of his forceful lkill 

That faved and fet thee free ! 
Talavera ! Salamanca ! 

Vittoria ! — fated name, — 
And fcores bevlde found far and wide 

The echoes of his fame. 

Of Fabian caution, lingering well 

Before the leaguer' d foffe, 
Let ridgy Torres Vedras tell 

And ftorm-won Badajoz : 
Of Julian vigour, fwift to wreak 

Full vengeance on the Gaul, 
In thunder, San Sebaftian, fpeak 

To Ciudad's echoing wall ! 



a 



O thwarted France, in thy worft hour 

The fcourge and curfe of Man, — 
O fell incarnate luft of power, 

Thou baffled Corfican, — 
Yell out his praife, whofe trophied life 

Was crown' d by crufhing you, 
And fear'd your hydra-heads of ilrife 

In branding Waterloo ! 



I 






A Dirge for Wellington. 207 

Weep, grateful Pruffia, well allied, 

And thou, black Brunfwick, weep ! 
And, Auflria, fwell this tribute tide 

Of forrow loud and deep : 
All nations well avenged in fight, 

All kingdoms of the world, 
Mourn him, who ftill to help the Right 

His battle flag unfurl' d. 

Bewail, O land, thy patriot true, 

The bulwark of thy ftate ; 
Clear to expound, and bold to do, 

In all things he was Great : 
Bewail, ye cliffs, that white and hoar 

By caftled Dover ftand, — 
Alas ! that ye fhall fee no more 

Our Nelfon of the Land ! 

Ah, bitter day ! I hear a groan 

From Britain's heart of oak : 
Forth from the altar and the throne 

That voice of anguiiri broke : 
Alas, that he fhould periih 

From the face of this dull earth, 
And leave us but to cherifh 

The remembrance of his worth ! 



Full of honours, full of years, 
Our Chief is dead and gone ! 

His epitaph a nation's tears, 
As for a firll-born fon : 



208 A Dirge for Wellington. 

Though dead and gone, — yet mall he live ! 

Yea, live for earth, and heaven, — 
By all that Man to Mind can give, 

Or God to Soul hath given ! 

He lives, by trophies of the fword, 

By triumphs of the pen, — 
He lives, by noble deed and word 

Within the hearts of men : 
He is not dead, but fleepeth, — 

Then why mould Britain go, 
As one that forely weepeth 

Uncomforted in woe ? 

With every earthly honour won, 

And every praife achieved, 
With every human duty done 

His crown of light is weaved : 
On Heaven's own archives, man may truft, 

Not lefs than hiflory's page, 
His high reward is — With the Juft 

To live in every age ! 



( 20 9 ) 



grihttt, not gtfafrtt. 

A KIFLE SONG. 

Nearer the muttering thunders roll, 
Blacker and heavier frowns the fky, — 

Yet our dauntlefs Englifh foul 

Faces the frorm with a fleady eye 3 

Hands are flrong, where hearts are flout, 

Our rifles are ready — Look out ! 

No one wifhes the florm to roll here, 
No one cares fuch a devil to raife 3 

And in brotherhood, not in fear, 

Only for peace an EnglifTiman prays ; 

Yet he may lhout in the midfl of the rout, 

Our rifles are ready — Look out ! 

Keep to your own like an honefl man, 

And here 's cur hand, and here's our heart : 

Let the world fee how wifely you can 
Play to the end a right neighbourly part 3 

But, if mifchief is creeping about, 

Our rifles are ready — Look out ! 

No defiance is on our lips, 

Nothing but kindlinefs greets you here 3 
Still, in the florm our dolphin ihips 

Round the Eddyflone dart and fleer 3 
p 



2 1 o Eheu ! fugaces. 



And on fhore, no doubt, no doubt, 
Our rifles are ready — Look out ! 

Not defiance, but only defence 

Hold we forth for humanity's fake 5 

And, with the help of Omnipotence, 

We fliall ftand when the mountains quake, - 

Only in Him our hearts are flout, 

Our rifles are ready — Look out ! 



The flying years ! the flying years ! 

How rapidly they wing away, — 
With all their covey'd hopes and fears, 

A mingled flock of grave and gay ! 

Look on the Paft, — a dream, a dream 

Of faddening thoughts and cloudy things ; 

Look at the Future, — does it feem 
Lefs than a Fate with folded wings ? 

Look to the Prefent, — this indeed 
Is worth our all of cofl and care, — 

And daily bread for daily need 
Is Wifdom's folitary pray'r. 



% Metorag f grit for % frratess of f ntssk 

Heralds ! it pertains to you 

Styles and Titles to proclaim, — 
Annalifts ! with honour due 

To fnrround each high-born name, — 
Statefmen ! it is yours to raife 

Gratulations far and wide, — 
Princes ! aptly may ye praife 

Royal Houfes well allied. 

But the minftrel, not unfought, 

Whereof fhall his fpirit ling ? 
Whither guide his drifting thought, 

Whence his infpiration bring ? 
Blazon'd fhields, and kingly trees, 

Pomp, and Pride, and balanced Power, — 
He can yearn on none of thefe 

In this fellal happy hour. 

England's Daughter, Pruffia's Bride 

Deigns to liften to his lay, 
It were pleafurable pride 

Her to pleafe and praife to-day, — 
But with trembling ftill he lings 

Waiting for the facred fire, 
And his lingers, mid the firings, 

Wander idly o'er his lyre. 



212 A Wedding Lyric. 



Should he touch that thrilling theme, 

Swift the human foul to move, 
Young affection's tender dream 

Bleft and blefling wedded love ? 
Should he tell of human hopes 

For this earth almoft too fair, 
And arede the horofcopes 

Of this glad affianced Pair ? 

No ! for Mercy doth forbid 

Man's dim guefs beyond his fenfe \ 
Let the Future Hill be hid 

In the fkirts of Providence : 
And, for all thofe holiefi things, 

Sacred are affection's flowers 
In the palaces of Kings 

As in humbled veftal bowers ! 

Lift not thou the veil — forbear — 

Minflrel, lay thy lyre afide $ 
Simply breathe a filent pray'r 

For the Bridegroom and the Bride : 
Pray that chance, and change, and time, 

Thefe true hearts may never fever 5 
But, as now, with power fublime, 

Love may reign in Them for ever ! 



®ut glow. 



A LESSON FROM THE BRUCE S SPIDER. 



With fix defeats half mad, 

The hunted Bruce in his lair 
At Rachrin's Ifle, all fullen and fad, 

Lion-like brooded there : 
" And mufl I yield me to ihame, 

Humbling my crown to the foe ? 
Shall Englifh Edward foar in his fame 

With Scotland's Bruce laid low ? 
Alas ! that the Red Comyn bled 

Beneath my dagger's blow, — 
Yes, yes ; my guilt, O thou Great Dead, 

Muft pay for it, woe for woe, — 
And Holy Land, in dear Scotia's flead, 
To the fallen Bruce be a funeral bed, — 

Ah me ! that it mull be fo ! " 

11. 

It was a peafant's cot, 

With rafters rotten and old, 
And the Bruce lay there, but he heeded not 

That his canopy was not gold : 



214 Once More. 



And, as he mufed in his watch, 
He noted, half in a dream, 
A fpider Twinging under the thatch, 
Swaying from beam to beam : 
Six times in its aim it fail'd, — 
A feventh — and lo ! the poor imp has prevail'd 
Through flout perfeverance in right ; 
And the Bruce leapt up at the humble fight, 
And the fortunate omen hail'd, 

And ftraightway fhouted, eager for fight, 

" Once more, — once more, for me 
And onward he march'd in his royal might 
Till the land of his love was free ! 



in. 

And fo, faint wrefiler of life, 

Many times foil'd and thrown, 
If thou wouldfl fiand like a man in the ftrife 

Where each muft ltruggle alone, 
Remember this word, "Once More," 

Be it feven, or feven times feven 5 
Knock yet again at The Father's door -, 
Energy makes all Victory fure, — 

Away with the faithlefs leaven ! 
Onward, upward, never give in ! 
" Once more " is ever the watchword to win 

The crowns of Earth and Heaven ! 



Swollen torrent, dark and deep, 
Rufbing down the rocky fleep, — 
Tempeft-driven cloud on high, 
Scudding wildly through the iky, — 
Dread volcano, muttering death 
From red-hot lips with burning breath, — 
Scarce mall thefe in type reveal 
What the nobler ipirits feel 
When, in filence Hern and ftrong, 
They wreftle with the Senfe of Wrong. 

Ha ! — when infult hifies near, 
Or fcorn drops hemlock on the ear, 
Or fraud has triumph' d over right, 
Or gentleness is mock'd by might, 
Or only, worth is feen unprized, 
Or only, honour goes defpifed, 
Then, in a whirlwind chafes along 
The foul beneath a Senfe of Wrong ! 

Yes, Patriot of a race downtrod $ 

Yes, Martyr for a flander'd God ; 

Yes, Man of large and liberal mind 

Wroth with the meanneis of mankind $ 

Yes, all who love the lovely ftill 

And hate the vile with right good will, — 

Your hearts can echo to my long, 

And ache beneath the Senfe of Wrong ! 



%\t $tm of p# 

Calm in well-deferving, 

Happy at the heart, 

Duty does his part 
Steadfaft and unfwerving. 

How mould it affect him 

If fome mocking-birds 

Clamour at his words, 
Or the world neglect him ? 

Confcience is the treafure 

Lock'd within his breaft, — * 
What were all the reft 

To that inner pleafure ? 

Brother, funk in forrow, 

Find thy balm within, 

To-day a comfort win 
Before the heavenly Morrow. 

Feed upon this blefling 

Though thy path be rough, 
Let it be enough 

Such a grace poffeffing : 

And when wrongs come near thee 

Crowding to the fight, 

Let the fenfe of Right 
Make thee ftrong and cheer thee ! 



gailiraj firaw. 



O rapid days, electric hours, 

Flaming with all that kindles life, — 
O fhifting fcene of funs and fhowers, — 

O melodrame of love and ftrife, — 
Such flirring racing bouts as thefe 

Are too full of firong effects 
For Hale Simplicity to pleafe, 

Or equal what the world expects. 

Time was, a wonder lived nine days. 

And forry talents grew to fame 5 
But now, one minute's curious gaze 

Is all we give to note or name : 
Glutted with news of all things ftrange, 

We fcarcely care to watch the turns 
Our quick kaleidofcope of Change 

Is working in the world's concerns. 

The framing river of events 

Rufnes adown its rocky fleep, 
And caufes, facts, and confequents 

Are hurl'd together in a heap, 
And keen Excitement's rainbow light 

Hangs iridefcent o'er the fall 
Of waters rufhing in their might, 

Solemnly overwhelming all, — 



21 8 Railway Times. 



Ay, — a Niagara-life is ours ! 

No reft, but ever hurried on 
By the great deep's gigantic powers, 

By the ftrong wind Euroclydon, — 
Yea, by the mighty flood of Fate, 

Yea, by the gale of human crimes 
We fpeed along, as if " too late " 

Were the great terror of the times. 

The lotus-eaters all are dead 5 

There is no nook for quiet thought 5 
The halcyon birds of peace are fled, 

And calm contentment 's come to nought ; 
Spur on, — fpur on ! our fteeds are ftrong, 

No need to fpare them in the pace 5 
With recklefs energy headlong 

We all refolve to win the race. 

O day of hot competing ftrife ! 

O crowded fcene of ftruggling fin ! 
What chance of any prize in life 

Has any tyro battling in ? 
The rareft worth wins little gold ; 

Wifdom has barely wit to live 5 
What chance, compared with calms of old, 

Does all our hurly-burly give ? 

What chance ? — my counfel is, keep ftillj 
They do not drown who lie afloat, — 

And quietnefs fets free the will 
To pilot well the crankeft boat ; 



T)etra5iion. 219 



And, — he that Hands aloof from flrife, 
Calmly refolved to thread the maze, 

Shall quell to his Succefs in life 
The riot of thefe rapid days. 



§ttxu\w\\. 

Thou canft. not help the thoufand things 
That might be better done 5 

Corruption its black fhadow flings 
On all beneath the fun 3 

Nor thought nor word nor deed can reach 

The purity our yearnings preach. 

Nothing is perfect 5 be content, — 
Thank God it is no worfe 5 

Creation pays a bitter rent 

And fins beneath a curfe ; 

Thank God for bleiling Hill beftow'd, 

And grace to lift guilt's crufhing load. 

Thou canft not work thy nobler will 

Unvex'd by fin and ftrife 5 
A mingled draught of good and ill 

Ts ftill the cup of life ; 
Take it and drink 5 for it is meet 
Thy fpirit quaff that bitter fweet. 



Detraction like a fcorpion Hands 
To ftrike at men and things 3 

The fpider with her hideous hands 
Clings to the lkirts of kings 3 

Be fure thy cot fhall not efcape 

The poifon of that dreaded fhape. 

Slander fhall mar thy pureft work, 
And fpot thy faireft robe 3 

The cancer-roots of evil lurk 

Throughout the groaning globe 3 

The thing well-done might better be 3 

And there are thoufand faults in thee. 



%\t f mi anfr % Jpift. 

Warm heart, foft heart, generous and gentle, 

Full of fweet affections, fympathies, and loves, — 
How thou tranfcendeft all the merely mental, 

How doll thou exceed in all The Holy One approves ! 
In affliction's hour 
Gracious in thy power 
Tenderly thou comforteft a lifter in diftrefs, — 
And when matters brighten 
How thy fmiles enlighten 
Every one that looks on thee, an angel fent to blefs, 
Every eye that lights from thee its torch of hap- 
pinefs ! 



The Heart and the Mind. 221 

Clear mind, keen mind, wall'd about with greatnefs, 

Conqueror unconquerable over human ill, 
Theban Coloflus fitting in fedatenefs, 

How art thou in majefly a mighty fpirit full ! 

In the day of trouble, 

Though its grief be double, 
Glorioufly thou triumpheft above the battle-din, 

And when, after fadnefs, 

All is turn'd to gladnefs, 
Thou remaineft calm, a true philofopher within, 
Calm amidil a univerfe of folly, ftrife, and fin ! 

Great heart ! great mind ! be ye both united, 

Knit in holy wedlock, mind and heart as man 
and wife, — 
So fhall the foul, to firength and beauty plighted, 
Bring forth all its precious fruits in perfect Chrifiian 
life! 

Ever full of feeling, 
Yet the fpirit Heeling 
Sturdily againft the wrongs and troubles of this earth ; 
Ever ftrong and fieady 
Yet in fpirit ready 
Heartily to pity or to love where love is worth, 
Lovingly to live the life begun at fecond birth ! 



( 222 ) 



m\nt toe all #ecl. 

Ah ! Life, — fo purpofelefs yet fteep'd in felf, 
I do confefs thee, yea, I do condemn thee, 

So pack'd with pleafure, or fo plann'd for pelf, 
I do denounce thee, yea, I do contemn thee. 

Ah ! Life, — fo changeful, yet fo dull and tame, 
I dread and doubt thee, while I muft defpife thee, 

So lotteried, and ftill fo blank the fame, 

I wait and hope, defpairing while I prize thee. 

Ah ! Life, — be better 5 yet thou haft no crime 
Thus to abjure, for ftill thy will is worthy 5 

Only thou weepeft for the wafte of time, 
And that thou art too ufelefs and too earthy. 

Ah ! Life, — enduringly I watch and wait ; 

Winter is patient, till the day be lengthen'd, 
And well-ripe fruit, delay' d but not too late, 

Cornea of a root by frofty forrow ftrengthen'd. 

Yes, Life ! in hope, for ever luring on, 

I wreftle in the crowd of men and manners, 

AfTured at laft to find thy Battle won, 

And Victory fanning me with purple banners. 



%\t §m\\tmm. 



Not alone by generous birth 

(Greatly though it famions men), 
Not by all the wealth of earth, 

Not by all the talents ten, 
Not by beauty, nor by wit, 

No, nor manners well refined, — 
Is that name of honour writ 

On the forehead of the mind. 

Poverty retains it oft, 

With the peafant it hath dwelt, 
And its influence fweet and foft 

In the fcholarlefs been felt ; 
Lowly birth, and forrow's power, 

All that want of all things can, 
Have not marr'd — nor made — one hour 

This true knight, the Gentleman. 

Charity, — unfelfifh zeal 

Left a forrow or a fhame 
Any one be made to feel 

Undeferving fcorn or blame, — 
Dignity, the generous fenfe 

That himfelf is heir outright 
To that heritage immenfe, — 

King and pried of worlds of light, — 



224 The Gentleman. 



Lowlinefs of heart withal, — 

Purity of word and life — 
Courage,— -not for arms to call 

But to quell infurgent ftrife, — 
Honour, — for the good and true 

With Bayard to guard the van, — 
And what courtefies are due, 

Thefe make up the Gentleman. 

Ay, Sir, calm and cold and proud, 

Trufl me, for the word is true, 
There are thoufands in the crowd 

Finer gentlemen than you ; 
More, — for all your courtly birth 

And each boon by fortune given, 
Know that gentlemen of earth 

Are always gentle fons of heaven. 

Chefterfields, and modes, and rules 

For polilh'd age or flilted youth, 
And high breeding's choice!! fchools 

Need to learn this deeper truth, 
That to acl:, whate'er betide, 

Nobly on the Chriftian plan, 
This is Hill the fureft guide, 

How to be the Gentleman ! 



( 22 5 ) 



ffl 



Think not, O man, that ftrong Temptation's hour, 
For all thy might of mind, is pail to thee ; 
Dream not, prefumptuous, that thy ftate is free 

From evil chance and change and Satan's power. 

Hot Nature ftill may vex thy foul within, 
And fire its houfe with wantonnefs or ftrife, 
Still can thy heart make ihip wreck of its life, 

And drown in gulphs of dark tumultuous fin. 

How canft thou guefs the trials coming near, 
Or whether fome loft fpirit be not fent 
To lure thy pride to fome due punifhment, 

For that, high-minded, thou haft cart, off fear? 

O never is there fafety for the foul 

Oat of true humblenefs : the purefl faint 

Shall burfl through grace, and habit's good conflraint, 

If lufl and pride within him win control. 

Then, be thou ware, frail creature ! watch and pray ; 
Thou haft no ftores, but only manna given 3 
Go, flee temptation at the gates of heaven, 

And humbly alk thy daily bread to-day. 

a 



( 226 ) 



Tyrannic Circumftance ! whofe jealous power 

Guards every turn,, and watches every hour, 

With fecret influences controlling ftill 

The conduct and the fpirits, and the will, 

Alas, — that each of us is feen a Have, 

In fetters from the cradle to the grave ! 

What ? — am 1 free ? each natural bent within, 

Inherited infirmity and fin, 

The brain, the difpofition, and the fhape, 

And new-hatch'd paflion, flumbering or agape 

With tafles inclined for normal peace or ftrife, 

Thefe warp the man, and mould his heart and life. 

What ? — am I free ? each artifice without, 

Wherein convention hedges us about, 

Family likeneffes of make and mind, 

Habit, example, ufage harm or kind, 

And every tone and temper all around, 

Thefe link the chain to keep the freeman bound. 

Poor Gulliver, the giant of the fkies, 
Is tied to earth by countlefs petty ties ; 
Helplefs in head and body, hands and feet, 
Worried by pigmies with their arrowy fleet, 
Humbled to wants, and cow'd by difefteem, 
And feeing things around as in a dream, 
Proftrate he lies, — with all his wit and power 
Made captive to the trifles of the hour ! 



( 22 7 ) 



And yet, — What is this ruthlefs Circumflance ? 

A ftolid Fate ? or trivial thing of Chance ? 

What, O thou difcontented ! is this Power 

Guiding thy way, and guarding every hour ? 

Is it aught elfe than God's paternal care, — 

His providence o'erruling everywhere, 

His kind and mighty and myllerious Will 

That nx'd thee where thou art, and holds thee ftill 

O blind and ignorant, — who doll not know 

That all our checks and trials here below, 

Our inner croffes, and our outer cares, 

Our wants, temptations, forrows, fears, and fnares, 

That all the difappointment and the ftrife 

Which baffle hope and break the reft of life, 

All, all arefent, — and ordered from above 

In ftric~T.eft juftice and profoundeft Love ! 

A Have ? in fetters ? — Yes, for thou art bound 

To toil awhile for everything around 5 

Not to himfelf may any creature live, — 

Not to delights his time and talents give, — 

Not think of Gain amidft a world of Lofs, — 

But duteoufly go forth, and bear — a crofs ! 

Thou canft not choofe : the lot is call for thee : 

Thy care be ftill in Duty's path to be 5 

Under all hindrance ftriving for the bell, — 

And leaving Heaven to care for all the reft. 



( 228 ) 



The die is caft, — be fatisfied 5 
The chance is paft, — be Hill : 

For this, no more Occafion's tide 
Can waft thee good or ill ) 

The hour is gone, the deed is done* 

And all the battle loft or won. 

Stand on the Fa<5t in patience ftrong, 

And never nurfe regret 5 
Bid this ftern Prefent, right or wrong, 

That dreamy Paft forget ; 
And work with all thy lkill and power 
The living duties of the hour. 

All elfe is nought, all elfe is dead, 

Difguife it as we may 5 
Caufes with yeflerday have fped, 

Remits are here to-day ; 
Take them, and ufe them as ye can 
Right loyally for God and Man. 

The Thought that was not born a Thing 

Is only falfe Romance ; 
Reality is Nature's King, 

Unfearing change or chance ; 
When men can ftand upon a Fa 61, 
Duty mows clear, and Faith may act. 






( 22 9 ) 



%\t (§m)s anfo t\t toe. 

Nothing lafls that is not good 5 

Nothing Hands that is not true : — 
What a thing mifunderftood, 

What a thought kept out of view ! 
O pretences, fhams, and cheats, 

You may ltrut your little day, — 
But Confufion fwiftly meets 

And furely drives you all away ! 

Never yet was Truth affail'd, 

But the hraggle gave it ftrength ; 
" Great is Truth and has prevail' d " 

Always comes to pafs at length : 
Never yet was good attack' d, 

But the very foe that fmote 
Whiten' d up what flander black' d, 

And abjured what malice wrote ! 

What is Good ? — the pure and kind ; 

What is Truth r — the wife and right ; 
And, in Matter as in Mind, 

Both will live in death's defpite : 
But the bad, the falfe, the bale, 

Barely breathe one feverim hour, 
Dying out of every place 

Like a rootlefs nofegay flower. 



230 Chaos Cryftallizing. 

How then comes it, that fo oft 

Good men droop, and good things drown? 
How, that Lies are throned aloft, 

While fo many Truths die down ? 
— How ? — For juft a little while, 

And by jufl a herd of fools, 
Cheats are praifed, and fhams beguile, 

And fin is ltout where Satan rules : 

Ay, — but look a little higher, 

Forward poll your eager eye, 
You that glorioufly afpire, 

And on God and Right rely ; 
Evil perifhes,— forfake it, — 

Falfehood dies — renounce its fway, — 
But the Good, for treafure take it, — 

And fecure the True to-day ! 



Give it only time enough, 

Every thing fhall find its place ; 
Every creature wins its race, 
Though the courfe be rough. 

All is not Miftake on earth 5 
Providence fulfils its plan 5 
And Creation, down to man, 
Juflifles its birth. 



Chaos Cryft affixing. 231 

Folly builds her Babel tower, 

Where, — fince Wifdom well permits, — 
Grey Old Sin a Nimrod fits 
For his human hour : 

Let a little time have fled, 
And anon it topples down ; 
And we tear away the crown 
From that ufurper's head ! 

All mall yet be right at laft ; 
Coining Day fhall clear it up ; 
And Creation's ftirrup-cup 
Sweeten all the pail. 

Good achieves its glorious ends $ 
Soon for Evil's tranfient reign, 
Spite of guilt and grief and pain, 
Making rich amends. 

Now, like cryftallizing falts, 
All is feen confufion here ; 
But right foon it fhall appear 
Wifdom makes no faults : 

Atom to its atom flies, 
Every bevill'd angle fits, 
Till at length fair Order fits 
Enthroned on earth and Ikies. 



( 2 3* ) 



God be thank'd that ftorms blow over, 

God be praifed that faith endures 1 
Nature, univerfal lover, 

Ever works fuch timely cures ; 
Wolf-like fears may Hill be howling, 

But they come not near us oft 
If we fcare them in their prowling 

By the torch of hope aloft ! 

Oh the many dreads and troubles 

Wifdom Ihows us, — only ihows ; 
To the brim the cauldron bubbles 

But it feldom overflows 5 
To correct us and to try us 

Brood the black tempefluous fkies, 
But thofe terrors come not nigh us 

If they find, or make us — wife. 

He, that is the Source and Sender, 

Knows how trouble chafiens ftill; 
But Himfelf is our defender 

When that trouble works for ill : 
Thus, our faith may trull Him blindly 

Should He fend us help or grief, 
For His Sovereignty deals kindly 

Both in trial and relief ! 



( 2 33 ) 



& & 

O Life ! — what a dream, 

What a tale that is told ! 
How ftrangely I feem 

On a fudden grown old ; 
With records behind me 

Of years by the fcore, 
And all to remind me 

That they are no more ! 

The friends of my prime 

Are dead, or grown gray, 
Or diflanced by time, 

Or ftolen away ; 
And as my thought ranges 

O'er people and things, 
Perpetual changes 

My memory rings ! 

Ah ! days that are pall, — 

How vague to mine eyes 
As periihing fall 

Recollections arife ! 
O pity and forrow 

That feelings decay, 
And ev'ry To-morrow 

Out-clamours To-day ! 



234 Welcome. 



But folemn in footh 

Is Yefterday's page,, — 
Alas ! for my youth, 

Alas ! for mine age, 
Alas ! is the fighing 

From heart and from head, 
For pleafures fo flying 

And pleafures fo fled ! 



fflbta ! 

Yes! welcome, right welcome — and give us your 
hand,— 

I like not to Hand in the cold ! 
If new friends are true friends I can't underftand 

Why hearts fhould hold back till they 're old ; 
For life is fo fhort, and there 's fo much to do, 

And fo many pleafures and cares — 
And fomewhere I 've read that, though angels are few, 

They 're fure to be met unawares ! 

The eye of fincerity ftiines like a ftar 

Through the clouds of fufpicion and doubt ; 

I love its fair luflre, and lure it from far, 
And wouldn't for worlds put it out : 



Welcome. 235 



Away with fuch wifdom, as Hiking the chance 
Of killing young love with old fears — 

The face that is honeft. is known at a glance, 
And needn't be fludied for years ! 

And when petty Prudence would put me to fchool 

About caution, and care, and all that, 
I trull that, like fome folks, I yield to the rule 

Of wearing a head in my hat ; 
But more that remains is better than brains, 

And I know not that fome folks are bleft, 
Like me, with a fhare in a cuftom more rare, 

Of wearing a heart in the breafl ! 

Then come with all welcome ! I fear not to fling 

Referve to the winds and the waves, 
And never can cling to the cold-blooded thing 

Society makes of its Haves : 
Thou dignified dullard, fo cloudy and cold, 

Get out of the funfhine for me 5 
But, hearty good friend ! whether new one or old, 

A Welcome for Ever to thee ! 



( 2 3 6 ) 



Patience yet one little hour, 
Pale, unloved, uncourted flower, 

Seeing not the fun 5 
Patience, — heart of depth and duty, 
Yearning for the fmiles of beauty, 

Never catching one : 

Patience, — martyr following faintly, 
Gentle nun, ferene and faintly, 

Kneeling in the duft ; 
Oh not vain thy long-enduring! 
Still with meekeft might fecuring 

Triumph to thy trull ! 

Hufhing every mutter d murmur, 
Tranquil Fortitude the firmer 

Girdeth thee with flrength ; 
While, no treafon near her lurking, 
Patience, in her perfect working, 

Shall be Queen at length. 

And, behold ! thy pious daring 
Is a glorious crown preparing 

For thine own fweet brow -, 
Precious pearls of fofteft luflre 
Shall with brighteft jewels clufter 

Where the thorns are now ! 



Faith and Patience ! filler, brother, — 
Lean in love on one another, 

Calm for good or ill : 
Comforted by furely knowing 
That the Ruler is bellowing 

Strength in fitting Hill ! 

O ye virgin fpirits walling, 

O ye hearts of thoufands, halting 

Darkly to decay, 
Through the blight of difappointment,- 
Tenderly, with precious ointment, 

Lull thofe cares away 5 

Tenderly, with wife beguilings, 
Court fweet Patience for her mailings 

On that ruin drear ; 
Soon, with other filler graces, 
Shall fhe make your hearts and faces 

Laugh away their fear : 

Self-Contentment, bright-eyed Duty, 
Faith in his archangel beauty, 

Joy, and Love fublime, 
Follow, — Patience, where thy finger 
Gently beckons Hope to linger 

On the wrecks of time ! 



How little and how lightly 

We care for one another ! 
How feldom and how flightly 

Confider each a brother ! 
For all the world is every man 

To his own felf alone, 
And all befide no better than 

A thing he will not own. 

And (>, the fhame and fadnefs, 

To fee how iniincerely 
The heart, that in its gladnefs 

Went forth to love men dearly, 
Is chill'd, and all its warmth repell'd 

As juft a low miitake, 
And half the cordial yearnings quell' d 

It felt for others' fake. 

The fervice it would render 

Is call'd intrufive boldnefs, 
And thus, that heart fo tender, 

Now hardening to coldnefs, 
Returns, returns, — a blighted thing ! 

To fcorn thofe early days, 
The frelhnefs of its green young fpring, 

Its beauty and its praife. 



%\t Pan stout f ohm. 

Evil-eyed loiterer, pilgrim of fafhion, 

Sunlefs and hard is thy froft-bitten heart ; 
Scoffing at nature's affection and paflion, 

Till thou haft made the fad angels depart : 
Sinner and fool ! to be fearing and fealing 

All the fweet fountains of fpirit and truth — 
Quick to be free from the frefhnefs of feeling, 

Swift to efcape from the fervours of youth. 

Woe to thee — woe ! for thy criminal coldnefs ; 

Oh, I could pity thee, defolate man, 
But that thofe eyes, in their infolent boldnefs, 

Tempt me to fcorn fuch a ftate, if I can : 
Wearied of hunting the fhadows of pleafures, 

Thou art half dead in the prime of thy days, 
Emptied of Heaven's and Earth's better treafures, 

Victim and Have to the world and its ways ! 

Early and late at thy dull diflipation, 

Liflleffly indolent even in fin, 
What is thy foul but a pool of ftagnation, 

Calmnefs without, and corruption within ? 
Happinefs, honour, and peace, and affection — 

Thefe were thy heritage every one, — 
But as thou meeteft them all with rejection, 

They have rejected thee, Prodigal Son ! 



240 Tangley Pond. 



O that humility, gracious as duteous. 

Lighten'd thofe eyelids fo heavy with fcorn ! 
O that fincerity, blefled as beauteous, 

Gilded thy night with the promife of morn ! 
Franknefs of mind is the bell of high breeding- 

Kindnefs of foul the true Gentleman's part 5 
And the firfl: fafhion all fafhions exceeding, . 

Is the warm gufh of a generous heart ! 



Wangles Jonfr. 



All on a happy fummer's day 

When the air is warm and m'll, 
And thundery clouds are louring gray 
Over the landfcape green and gay 
Around St. Martha's Hill,— 

How pleafant it is, with a cheerful friend 

Of beautiful Nature fond, 
Acrofs the fields our ways to wend, 
And here the calm fweet hours to fpend 

Fifhing at Tangley Pond. 

I love the tapering rod to wield, 

And caft the fenfitive float, 
Till down it runs with the line outreel'd 
And a fierce old pike, flill fcorning to yield, 

Flounders about in the boat : 



c Ta72gley Pond. 241 



I love the angle, — to watch and wait 

For the perch fo lubtle and {till, 
Till deep in his hole he has gorged the bait, 
And gluttony fixes a tyrant's fate 

With a good gimp-hook in his gill : 

I love the quiet, — the lull from care, — 

The lake, all clear and calm, — 
The flowering reeds, and the wild fowl there,- 
The trees afleep in the fultry air, 

And all things breathing balm. 

Old Tangley Pond, — my boyhood's haunt, 

My manhood's holiday reft, — 
Let any that will my fondnefs taunt, 
And mock while thus thy praife I chaunt, 

Lull'd on thy tranquil breaft. 

Oh yes,---there is peace and quietnefs here 

If nowhere found beyond ; 
The way one's fpirit to foothe and cheer 
Is— angle awhile, in the prime of the year, 

At dear old Tangley Pond. 



Fair Charity, thou rarefr, beft, and brighter! ! 

Who would not gladly hide thee in his heart, 
With all thine angel-guefts, — for thou delightefr. 

To bring fuch with thee, — never to depart ? 
Cherub, with what enticement thou inviteft, 

Perfect in winning beauty as thou art, 
World-wearied man to plant thee in his bofom, 
And graft upon his cares thy balmy blofTom. 

Fain would he be frank-hearted, generous, cheerful, 
Forgiving, aiding, loving, trufting all, — 

But knowledge of his kind has made him fearful 
All are not friends, whom friends he longs to call ; 

For prudence makes men cold, and mifery tearful, 
And interefl bids them rife upon his fall, 

And while they feek their felfifh own to cherifh, 

They leave the wounded flag alone to perifh. 

Man may rejoice that thy fweet influence hallows 
His intercourfe with all he loves — in Heaven : 

But canft. thou make him love his fordid fellows, 
And mix with them untainted by their leaven ? 

How can he not grow cautious, cold, and callous, 
When he forgives to feventy-times feven, 

And mil repeated wrongs, unwept for, harden 

The heart that 's never fued nor fought to pardon ? 



Referve's cold breath has chill'd each warmer feeling, 

Ingratitude has frozen up his blood, 
Unjufl neglect has pierced him pail all healing, 

And fcarr'd a heart that panted to do good ; 
Slowly, but furely, has diflrufl been Heeling 

His mind_, much wrong' d, and little underflood : 
Would charity unfeal affection's fountain ? 
Alas ! 'tis crufh'd beneath a marble mountain. 

Yet the belief that he was loved by other 

Could root and hurl that mountain in the fea, 

Oblivion's depth the height of ill would fmother, 
And all forgiven, all forgotten be \ 

Man then could love his once injurious brother 
With fuch a love as none can give but he 5 

The fun of love, and that alone, has power 

To bring to bright perfection love's fweet flower ! 

Soft rains, and, zephyrs, and warm rains can vanquifh 
The ilubborn tyranny of winter's frofl 3 

Once more the fmiling valleys ceafe to languifh, 
Drefl out in frefher beauties than they loll : 

So fprings with gladnefs from its bed of anguifh 
The heart that felt not, when reviled and crofl, 

But, once beloved, — oh then, not once but often, 

Love's funny fmile the rockiert heart will foften ! 



( 244 ) 



Recollect, as well you may, 

(You that pine and brood in forrow), 
If there 's little luck to-day, 

More is left to come to-morrow ; 
Every prefent grows to paft 

Almolt while the grumbler heeds it : 
But, for pleafure made to laft, 

Look to where the future feeds it. 

Coming chances muft be more, 

(Realbn will herfelf remind us), 
And all prizes crowd before 

If the blanks are all behind us 5 
Therefore never go downcaft, 

But let cares lit all the lighter, 
Since a dark and lucklefs pall 

Argues all the future brighter. 



( 2 45 ) 



prates fast. 



Alas for trouble and care and fin, 
And bitternefs, hate, and flrife ! 
That the heart grows cold and callous within, 
As Honed by the hail and ftunn'd by the din 
Of the ftorm- driven defert of life. 

Alas ! that the world is winning the game, — 

And — who then is counting the coil ? 
O fpeed, — for fear, for glory, for fhame, 
Let Satan be baulk'd of his murderous aim, 
For, the Hake is — a foul to be loft ! 

Where ftands Paradife, after the fall ? 

Alas ! it has wither' d away, — 
The flime of the ferpent is over us all, 
And Nature has veil'd with a funeral-pall 

Her beautiful face in decay ! 



€\mhhm. 

(in dactylic stanzas.) 

Lover of goodnefs, and friend to the beautiful, 

Ever go forth with a fmile on thy cheek, 
Knowing that God will profper the dutiful, 

Gladden the holy, and honour the meek ; 
Ever go on, though fortune be rigorous, 

Bearing as Providence wifely may will. 
Strong in good confcience, with energy vigorous, 

Building up good, and demolifhing ill. 

There is a fpirit, that fadly and tearfully 

Goes to its duties, a flave to its talks ; 
There is a fpirit that lioutly and cheerfully 

Toils in the funfhine, and toils as it batks ; 
Both may be labouring, ripely and readily, 

Chriftians and hulbandmen tilling the foil, 
But the one lings, while he labours fo Iteadily, 

And the fad other fheds tears at his toil. 

Be of this wifer and better fraternity, 

Nurling contentednefs 11111 in thy brealt ; 
So mail thy heart, for time and eternity, 

Ache though it mult, be for ever at reft : 
Peace is the portion of hopeful audacity, 

Routing the worli and fecuring the bell:, 
And the keen vilion of Chriltian fagacity 

Sees for us all that we all may be blelt ! 



€anik\\tt 

(IN SAPPHIC STANZAS.) 

Never went man coarageouny to dangers 
Fear and his conflant fpirit being Grangers, 
But, while he faced his enemies and hew'd them, 
Soon he fubdued them : 

As he goes onward, perils feem to fcatter, 
Mind ever fhows the conqueror of matter 5 
Even the mountain crags that toppled o'er him 
Open before him 5 

Even the torrents, riotoufly wrathful, 
Are to his footfteps fordable and pathful ; 
Even the prowlers, in the defert roaming, 
Fly at his coming. 

O man of faith, of energy, and boldnefs, — 
Onward ! in fpite of darknefs and of coldnefs, — 
Forward ! for Conqueft with triumphal pleafance 
Waits for thy prefence : 

Never, on Right and Providence relying, 
Fail'd of fuccefs, while duteoufly trying, 
He, who refolves and wreftles like a Roman, 
Yielding to no man ! 



( * 4 8 ) 



Jttttora. 

(iTST ALCAIC STANZAS.) 

Bulwark of England, GoD-given Liberty ! 
Name much malign' d, yet noble and glorious, 
How rarely the marles who claim thee 

Judge as they ought of the fools that maim thee ! 

No part haft thou with clamorous demagogues, 
Red revolution fcares thee and fcatters thee, 
And defpots have flolen thy llandard 

Only to render thee fcorn'd and flander'd : 

Still to enflave the credulous multitude 
Is their intent in utter effrontery ; 
O treafon, O fhame, and O wonder, 

That the one tramples the many under ! 

Man, when his Maker made him and fafhion'd him, 
Man Hood as free as Mercy could order it, — 
Free, faving Religion in feafon, 

Saving the bridle and bit of Reafon. 

And when, as now, the Fall and its accidents 
Drove him from God to human fociety, 
Still Reafon, Religion, and Franknefs 

Stand as the pruners of Freedom's ranknefs : 



Freedom. 249 



Reafon, Religion, counfel and fanftify 
Unto good order governing minifters, 
And Franknefs gives up to his brother 
Much of his own, for the fake of other. 

Freeman ! thy neighbour alfo has liberties ; 
This may fubtracl: his rights from thy heritage, — 
But Freedom without moderations 

Were but the licence of pirate nations. 

England ! in thee mines Liberty's excellence -, 
We are as free as ferves for humanity, 
Freefpoken, freejudging, freeacting, 
Nobody fpying, and none exacting. 

We love the Queen, and guard her with loyalty, 
She loves the People, ruling us faithfully, 
And thofe who amongft us are wifer 
Counfel her, each as a free advifer. 

Thus we reform whate'er is iniquitous, 
Thus we remove whatever is obfolete, 
Yet always refolve to deal fairly 

Even with thofe who deferve it rarely : 

Thus in the light of rational liberty 
Each of us walks a patriot Engliftiman — 
Courageous, but boafting it never 3 
Moderate, honeft, and patient ever. 

And we can love our brethren in flavery, 
Giving them all, with prodigal fympathy, 
Our prayers, our blood, our treafure — 

All we can give, without flint or meafure : 



25° 



Long Ago. 



And we can hate the bafe and tyrannical, 
Vowing to cruih oppreffion and cruelty — 
And fharing with peoples and races 
All Chriftianity's gifts and graces. 

England the free is Europe's deliverer, 
Standing with France, co- warders of Liberty \ 
And Englifhmen know how to ufe it, — 
Engliihmen only will not abufe it ! 



FOR MUSIC. 

What a gloom and what a chill 

Hang about old haunts of ours, — 
Where, at childhood's wayward will, 

Long ago we gather' d flowers ; 
Where, in youth's romantic prime, 

Long ago we met and parted, 
In the olden golden time 

When we went fo eager-hearted ! 

Ah ! but in thofe long agoes, 

With their dreamy dear old places 
And forgotten joys and woes 

And their unforgotten faces, 
How much forrow ever hides, 

Leaving what we loved behind us ; 
While, how fwift our life-dream glides, 

Thefe fad long agoes remind us ! 



f mt Jbrttir. 

Poor Arctic ! once awhile my floating home 
Full of kind faces, my right royal yacht, 
Alas ! how fwift and terrible a lot 

Has caught and whelm' d thee in the billowy foam. 

The gay faloon was ringing with its mirth, 

— Sudden Collifion comes with frightful crafh, 
And over all the riotous waters dafh, 

Rulhing from deck to deck, from berth to berth ! 

I will not coldly try to paint in rhyme 

Thofe thoufand horrors ; let the fobbing fea 
Chant its wild requiem over thine and thee, 

And darknefs fpread above its pall fublime. 

Rather fhall memory linger on the days 

When girt with friends, I fomewhile paced thy deck, 
Watching the diflant iceberg's fparkling fpeck, 

Or the broad fun down-fetting in a blaze : 

The nautilus would flretch its paper fail 
Crefting the fwell to catch our eager eyes, 
Or petrels from the cradling trough would rife, 

Or the lharp fin of fome black balking whale : 



252 The Loft Arffiic. 



And then, the merry games, and kindly looks 
Of pleafant fhipmates, and the noonday Hakes, 
How many knots an hour the good fhip makes — 

Roufing the dozers from their chefs and books : 

And then,— Woe, woe ! that on fuch fcenes as thefe 
The Viking, Death, mould like a pirate burft, 
And drag them all, in gulphing waves immerft, 

Down to the charnel-caverns of the feas ! 

All, — but the dingers to fome finking boat 
Loft in the fog, or on that raft — Defpair; 
One — only one of feventy ! — lingereth there, 

While buoy'd around him upturn'd corpfes float ! 

All, — but the Abdiel-captain of the crew, 
Who, finking nobly with his finking fhip, 
Then battled back to life with dauntlefs lip, — 

A righteous Jonah, faithful found and true. 

All? — yet a remnant — (of five hundred fouls 
Hope breathes a tithe) — miraculoufly faved ; 
Above the reft, where firft that Viking raved, 

His mighty banner the dark Ocean rolls ! 

O Life, and luxury, and hope, and health, 
And fuddenly — Deftruction ! who can know 
How huge the fun of man's and woman's woe 

When my poor Arctic fank with all her wealth ? 



( 2 53 ) 



Be true, be true ! whate'er befide 
Of wit, or wealth, or rank be thine, 

Unlefs with fimple truth allied, 
The gold that glitters in thy mine 

Is only drofs, the brals of pride 
Or vainer tinfel, made to fhine. 

Be true, be true ! the prize of earth 
From God alike with man forfooth, 

The real nobility of birth 
To age, maturity, or youth, 

The very crown of creature-worth, 
Is eafy, guilelefs, open Truth. 

Be true, be true ! to nerve your arm 

For any good ye wifh to do 5 
To fave yourfelves from fin and harm, . 

And win all honours old and new - 7 
To work on hearts as with a charm, — 

The maxim is, Be true, be true ! 

Be true, be true ! that eafy prize 

So loveable to human view, 
So laudable beyond the ikies, 

Alas ! is reach' d by very few — - 
The fimple ones, though more than wife, 

Whofe motto is, Be true, be true ! 



( 254 ) 



lata- 



Duty ! fhorn of which the wifeft 

And the befl were little worth, 
How with dignity thou rifeft 

O'er the littlenefs of earth : 
How thou blefTeft each condition 

Shedding peace and glory round. 
Even binding hot Ambition 

In thy fervice to be found ! 

Duty, — though the lot be lowly, 

God's broad-arrow thou art feen 
Making very trifles holy, 

And exalting what were mean ; 
In this thought the poor may revel 

That, obeying Duty's word, 
Humblefl want is on a level 

With my lady or my lord. 

Duty, — feen in lofty fiat ion 

As the brightefl jewel there, 
Providence doth blefs the nation 

Where thy badge its rulers bear 5 
England ! God regards with favour 

Both thy Queen and People too, 
For that Duty's precious favour 

Still is found in all they do. 



( *55 ) 



fSobftuj urn. 

In vain, — there is no refpite and no reft, 
No flagging in our headlong recklefs race ; 

In vain with clutching grafp and yearning breafl 
We ftrive to check the fieeds of Time and Space. 

All rufhes on ; no creature flops an hour j 

The babe, the boy, the man, the dotard — dies ; 

Perpetual changes vex the wayfide flower, 

And the great worlds careering through the Ikies. 

Yet is it fad that Beauty fcarce can bloom, 
Hardly can Wifdom drop one word of truth, 

Before the fage is humbled to the tomb, 

And wrinkles gather round the eyes of youth. 

Alas ! becaufe it hardens us at heart, 

This conftant moving-on, — this phantom fcene 

Of daily hourly meetings foon to part, 
And made to be as they had never been. 

New hopes, new motives, all things ever new 
Expelling all things old, however dear, 

Uproot the mind from growing ftrong and true, 
And the poor heart in all its longings fear. 



256 Moving on. 



A gloom, a folemn fadnefs, and a hope — 
A mighty hope, but mix'd with bitter fear, 

All lie within this fad reflection's fcope 

That nothing — nothing — hath continuance here. 

We wake, — and yefterday is thrown behind 
To play to-day's half-mafqueraded part 5 

Energy cheering on the hopeful mind, 

But pale-faced Memory holding back the heart. 

Alas ! I cannot read thefe thoughts aright ; 

I fain would fay that we (hall fee once more 
Some refurrection of the vifions bright 

That here, like mountain-mifts, have fwept us o'er. 

I fain, in this perpetual moving-on, 

Would fee the fhadowy type of flabler things ; 

Old loves renew' d, old victories re won, 

Old chords reflruck upon the old heartftrings ! 

If otherwife, it were a waile, — a lofs 

Of truth and beauty, happinefs and love 5 

But — there are all redemptions in the Crofs, 

And more than Space and Time in Heaven above ! 



( 2 57 ) 



ingto's Wtltam to t\]t WbxDj. 

A. BALLAD FOR l8jl. 

A voice of happy greeting to the Nations of the World ! 
A flag of peace for every ihore, on every fea, unfurl' d ! 
A Word of brotherhood and love to each who hears the 

call, — 
A Welcome to the World of Men, a Welcome, one and 

all! 

O children of a common flock, O brothers all around, 
In kindlinefs and fy mpathy receive the joyful found 5 
Old England bids you welcome all, and wins you to 

her Ihore, 
To fee how men of every clime may help each other 

more. 

Old England greets ycu lovingly, as friend fhould greet 

a friend, 
And only prays that peaceful days may never have an 

end ; 
And only hopes, by doing good, the good of all to gain, 
And lb Goodwill from brethren mil, right gladly to 

attain ! 

Come on then to this Tournament of Peace, and ikilful 

Art, 
Come on, fair Europe's chivalry, and play the Bayard's 

part ! 



258 England's Welcome to the World. 

For honour, Auftria, fpur away, for honour, gentle 

France ! 
For honour, Rufs, and Swede, and Turk, — come on 

with levell'd lance ! 

Come on amain, high-hearted Spain ! indufirious Hol- 
land, come ! 

Italy, Perfia, Greece, and Ind, — fill up the Nations' fum! 

And chiefly with us, heart to heart, come on, and tilt 
for fame, 

Columbia, — thou that England art in everything but 
name ! 

Not, as long fince, for deeds of death, — but deeds to 

gladden life 3 
Provoking each for other's good to join the generous 

ftrife ! 
As in thofe games at Pytho, or in old Nemaea's grove, 
Where Graecia's bell and worthieft for honour only 

flrove. 

Come, wreftle thus in peace with us, and vie for glory's 

prize, 
Bring out your wares of rarefl work, and wealthieft 

merchandife $ 
Let every Craft of every clime produce its brilliant befl:, 
The dazzling zone of Venus, and Minerva's ftarry crefi ! 

Let Science add the miracles that human reafon works 
When tracking out the Mind of God that in all Nature 

lurks, — 
The Wonderful, that He hath made Beneficent to man, 
And gives us wit to fathom it, and ufe it as we can ! 



A Hymn for all Nations. 259 

Oh, there are fecrets choice and ftrange, that men have 

not found out, 
Though up and down the earth we range, and forage 

round about, 
The hidden things of Mercy's heart, the Beautiful 

Sublime, 
That God hath meant to cheer us on adown the nream 

of Time : 

Adown the flream of Time, until we reach that happier 

more, 
Where fin and pain come not again, and grief is grief 

no more * 
For that, O nations, wifely ftrive to do all good 

you can, 
And gratefully, as unto God, live brotherly with Man ! 



% Jpm for all |M<ms. 

TRANSLATED INTO THIRTY LANGUAGES, 185I. 

Glorious God ! on Thee we call, 
Father, Friend, and Judge of all 5 
Holy Saviour, heavenly King, 
Homage to Thy throne we bring ! 



260 A Hymn for all Nations. 

In the wonders all around 
Ever is Thy Spirit found, 
And of each good thing we fee 
All the good is born of Thee ! 

Thine the beauteous fkill that lurks 
Everywhere in Nature's works ; 
Thine is Art, with all its worth, 
Thine each mafterpiece on earth ! 

Yea, and foremofr in the van 
Springs from Thee the Mind of Man ; 
On its light, for this is Thine, 
Shed abroad the love divine ! 

Lo, our God ! Thy children here 

From all realms are gather' d near, 

Wifely gather'd, — gathering ftill — 

For peace on earth, towards men good-will ! 

May we, with fraternal mind, 
Blefs our brothers of mankind ; 
May we, through redeeming love, 
Be the bleft of God above ! 



( 26l ) 



A BALLAD FOR THE WORKMAN. 

Hurrah ! for honeft Induftry, hurrah ! for handy Skill, 
Hurrah ! for all the wondrous works achieved by Wit 

and Will ! 
The triumph of the Artizan has come about at length, 
And Kings and Princes flock to praife his comelinefs 

and ftrength. 

The time has come, the blefTed time, for brethren to 

agree, 
And rich and poor of every clime at unity to be, 
When Labour honour' d openly, and not alone by Health, 
With horny hand and glowing heart may greet his 

brother. Wealth. 

Ay, wealth and rank are labour's kin, twin brethren all 

his own, 
For every high eftate on earth, of labour it hath grown ; 
By duty and by prudence, and by ftudy's midnight oil, 
The wealth of all the world is won by GoD-rewarded 

toil ! 

Then hail ! thou goodly Gathering, thou brotherhood 

indeed ! 
Where all the fons of men can meet as honeft labour's 

feed ; 
The tribes of turban' d Afia, and Afric's ebon fkin, 
And Europe and America, with all their kith and kin ! 



From Eaft and Weft, from North and South, to Eng- 
land's happy coaft, 

By tens of thoufands, lo ! they come, the great in- 
duflrial hoft,— 

By tens of thoufands welcomed for their handicraft and 
worth, 

Behold ! they greet their brethren of the Workfhop of 
the. Earth. 

Right gladly, brother workmen, will each Englifh 

Artizan 
Rejoice to make you welcome all, as honeft man to man, 
And teach, if aught he has to teach, and learn the much 

to learn, 
And lhow to men in every land, how all the world may 

earn ! 

Whatever earth, man's heritage, of every fort can yield, 
From mine and mountain, fea and air, from forefl and 

from field 3 
Whatever Reafon, God's great gift, can add or take 

away, 
To bring the worth of all the world beneath the human 

fway 3 

Whatever Science hath found out, and Induftry hath 

earn'd, 
And Tafte hath delicately touch 'd, and high-bred Art 

hath learn'd • 
Whatever God's good handicraft, the man He made, 

hath made 3 
By man, God's earneft Artizan, the bell (hall be dif- 

play'd ! 



La ft Call at the Palace of Glafs. 263 



Oh think it not an idle ihow, for praife, or pride, or pelf, 
No man on earth who gains a good can hide it for 

himfelf, 
By any thought that any thing can any how improve, 
We help along the caufe of all, and give the world a 

move ! 

It is a great and glorious end to blefs the fons of man, 
And meet for peace and doing good, in kindnefs while 

we can 5 
It is a greater and more bleft, the Human Heart to raife 
Up to the God who giveth all, with gratitude and praife! 



% fast Call at tlje Jsto tf 6Iass, 

Lightly blown, and foon to break 

Like a bubble on the ftream, 
Yet once more, for wonder's fake, 

Will I woo thee, brilliant Dream ! 
O thou Cryftal of this earth, 

Rich and rare, and pure and bright, 
Never lince Creation's birth 

Was there feen fo fair a fight ! 

What a beauteous open book 
Fill'd with all the Wit of Man ! 

What a fcroll whereon to look 
And its characters to fcan ! 



264 Laji Call at the Palace of Glafs. 

Yea, what thoughts the heart to thrill, — 
Yea, what eloquence, what power ! 

Genius, Labour, Art, and Skill, 

In one "bright confummate Flower !" 

Like an Aloe, late in time, 

With its fairy flags unfurl' d 
Stands in beauty half-fublime 

This laft wonder of the world : 
Yet in like ephemeral ftrength 

Soon its bloffoms mull: decay, 
And Earth's Aloe, blown at length, 

Fades, and droops, and dies away ! 

Dies away ? — No ! not all dead : 

Seeds are there of light and truth : 
Not in vain this book outfpread 

Has been read by age and youth : 
Not in vain the Nations throng'd, 

Yearning for each others' good, 
And with generous fervour long'd 

For the kifs of Brotherhood ! 

Queen, — there have been conquering kings, 

But their glory pales to thine : 
Prince, — there have been noble things 

Well achieved in ' auld lang fyne : ' 
Yet, till now, was never feen 

Happier glory, nobler fame, 
Than furrounds our Englifh Queen, 

And Her Albert's Saxon name ! 



( 265 ) 



% geimie stoat \\t Crystal plaxe. 

Dream of fplendour, bright and gay, 

Difenchanted all too foon, 
Dimly fading fail away 

Like a half- remember' d tune, — 
Lo ! my fpirit's heart is fad 

For the end of earthly things, 
And refufes to be. glad 

While I touch thefe trembling firings. 

Fountains, gufhing filver light, 

Sculptures, foft and warm and fair, 
Gems, that blind the dazzled fight, 

Silken trophies rich and rare, 
Wondrous works of cunning lkill, 

Precious miracles of art, — 
How your crowding memories fill 

Mournfully my muling heart ! 

Fairy Giant ! choiceft birth 

Of the Beautiful Sublime, 
Seeming like the Toy of earth 

Given to the dotard Time, — 
Glacier-diamond, Alp of glafs, 

Sinbad's cave, Aladdin's hall, — 
Muft it then be crufh'd, alas ! 

Muft the Cryftal Palace fall ? 



266 Rich and Poor. 



Yes! — as Autumn's chequer d hues 

Thus are tinted with decay, 
As the morn's prifmatic dews 

Glittering, exhale away, 
So with thee 5 in beauty's pride 

All thy brightnefs mult depart, — 
Nature's fair confumptive bride, 

Fragile paragon of Art ! 

But, Not all of thee ihall die ; 

Oh, not all fliall perifh thus ! 
Thy fweet fpirit ever nigh 

Will remain to gladden us, — 
Thy fweet fpirit — Brotherhood ! 

This was in thee like a Soul, 
Every Part to gild with good, 

And to glorify the whole ! 



fitjr sitir $0m; 

A BALLAD FOR SYMPATHY. 

ladies, lords, and gentlemen, 
Attend to what I fay, 

For well I wot you '11 like it when 

You liften to my lay ; 
And labourers and weavers too, 

Come near, whoever can, 

1 want the bed of ail of you, 

To build a Noble Man. 



The time is paft for lofty looks, 

As well as vulgar deeds ; 
Religion, common-fenfe, and books, 

Oh thefe are magic feeds ! 
They kill whate'er in man was proud, 

And nourifb what is wife, 
And feed the humbled of the crowd 

With manna from the ikies. 

Ay, dreary days of high-bred fcorn, 

You Ve fomewhile died away, — 
And better were the fool unborn, 

Who tries it on to-day : 
Ay, wintry nights of low-bred fin, 

You've llolen out of fight, 
And all things bafe, without, within, 

Are fcatter'd by the light. 

Take copy of the fmall, ye great ! 

In all that's free and frank 3 
Add cordial ways to courteous fiate, 

And heartinefs to rank : 
Take copy of the great, ye fmall, 

In all that 's foft and fair, 
Honourable to each and all, 

And gentle everywhere ! 

The Gracious Source of all oar wealth 

In body, mind, or ftore, 
Pours life and light and hope and health 

Alike on rich and poor ; 



268 Rich and Poor. 



And though fo many covet ill 
Some neighbour's happier (late, 

They little heed how kind a Will 
Has fix'd them in their fate. 

Think, juffly think, what liberal aids 

Invention gives to all, 
While Truth mines out, and Error fades, 

Alike for great and fmall ; 
How well the rail, the poft, the prefs, 

Help univerfal man, 
The higheft peer, and hardly lefs 

The humblefl artizan ! 

Religion, like an angel, ftands 

To folace every mind 5 
And Science, with her hundred hands, 

Is blefling all mankind -, 
All eyes may fee a beauteous light, 

All ears may hear fweet found, 
And fage-defired feeds of light 

Are broadcaft all around. 



Lo, the high places levelling down, 

The valleys filling up ! 
Magnates, who ought to wear a crown, 

Drain Charity's cold cup ; 
While Induftry, of humbleil birth, 

With Prudence well allied, 
O'ertops the topmoft peaks of earth, 

The palaces of pride. 



The International, 1862. 269 

Be humble then, ye mighty men ! 

Be humble, poor of earth ; 
Be God alone exalted, when 

He fpeaks by plague and dearth ! 
Let each be grateful, friendly, true, — 

And that will be the plan, 
To make of peer, and peafant too, 

A truly Noble Man ! 



1862. 



O wondrous Book of Earth's confummate ftory, 

With every chapter writ in truth and light, — 

O dazzling Pages, printed clear and bright, 
And frontifpieced to God's own power and glory! 

Now once again, — alas, for the laft time, 
With baffled mind I ftrive to read aright 

Thy million fecrets, beauteous or fublime, 
Concentred on my pleafed but aching iight : 
Yet, — what had ever cheer'd my heart the moft 

Among thofe miracles from every clime ? 
Fair fmiling flatues ? jewels pure and proud ? 

Art treafures, each competing Nation's boaft ? 

Yea, — more than fuch, — this happy human noil, 
The kind unfelfifh honefi: Common crowd. 



%\t %*\M\. 



A BALLAD FOR THE LABOURER. 

Six days in the week do I toil for my bread, 

And furely fhould feel like a nave, 
Except for a Providence fix'd overhead, 

That hallow'd the duties it gave ; 
I work for my mother, my babes, and my wife, 

And ilarving and Hern is my toil, — 
For who can tell truly how hard is the life 

Of a labouring fon of the foil ? 

A debt to the doctor, a fcore at the mop, 

And plenty of trouble and ftrife, — 
While backbreaking toil makes me ready to drop, 

Worn out and aweary of life ! 
Oh, were there no gaps in the month or the year, 

No comfort, or peace, or repofe, 
How long fhould I battle with miferies here, 

How foon be weigh'd down by my woes! 

Six days in the week, then, I ftruggle and ftrive, 

And, Oh ! but the feventh is blefl ; 
Then only I feem to be free and alive, 

My foul and my body at reft : 
I needn't get up in the cold and the dark, 

I needn't go work in the rain; 
On that happy morning I wait till the lark 

Has trill'd to the funfhine again ! 



The Sabbath. 271 



Unhurried for once,, well ihaven and clean, 

With babes and the mother at meals, 
I gather what home and its happinefs mean, 

And feel as a gentleman feels : 
Then dreft in my belt I go blithely to church, 

And meet my old mates on the way, 
To gollip awhile in the ivy'd old porch, 

And hear all the news of the day. 

And foon as the chimes of the merry bells ceafe, — 

Oh rare is the bell-ringers' din ! — 
We calmly compofe us to prayer and to peace, 

As Jabez is tolling us in : 
And then in the place where my fathers have pray'd, 

I praife and I pray at my bell, 
And fmile as their child when I hope to be laid 

In the fame bit of turf where they reft ! 

For wifely his Reverence tells of the dead 

As living, and waiting indeed 
A bright Refurrec~tion, — 'twas happily faid — 

From earth and its mifery freed ! 
And then do I know that though poor I am rich, 

An heir of great glories above, 
Till it feems like a throne, — my old feat in the niche 

Of the wall of the church that I love ! 

So, praife the Good Lord for his fabbaths, I fay, 

So kindly referved for the poor ; 
The wealthy can reft and be taught any day, 

But we have but one and no more ! 



Ay,— what were the labouring man without thefe 

His fabbaths of body and mind ? 
A workweary wretch without refpite or eafe, 

The curfe and reproach of his kind. 

And don't you be telling me, fages of trade, 

The feventh 's a lofs in my gain ; 
I pretty well guefs of what fluff you are made, 

And know what you mean in the main : 
You mete out the work, and the wages you fix, 

And care for the make, not the men ; 
For feven you 'd pay us the fame as for fix, 

And who would be day- winners then ? 

No, no, my fhrewd matters, thank God that His law, 

The Sabbath, is law of the land 5 
Thank God that His wifdom fo truly forefaw 

What mercy fo lovingly plann'd : 
My babes go to fchool : and my Bible is read ; 

And I walk in my holiday drefs , 
And I get better fed ; and my bones lie abed, — 

And my wages are nothing the lefs ! 

Then Praifes to God, — and all health to the Queen, — 

And thanks for the Sabbath, fay I ! 
It is, as it fhall be, and ever has been, 

The earthgrubber's glimpfe at the iky 3 
The Sabbath is ours, my mates of the field, — 

A holyday once in the feven 5 
The Sabbath to Mammon we never will yield, 

It is Poverty's foretafte of Heaven ! 



( *73 ) 



(tattttg fife. 

I. AGAINST. 

Think not thou that fields and flowers, 
Copfes and Arcadian bowers, 

Grow the crop of Peace : — 
In this model life of ours 

Worries feldom ceafe. 

Think not Envy, Hatred, Malice 
Seethe alone in town and palace ; 

For on Eden firft, 
Pour'd from evil's caldron-chalice, 

Thofe hot geyfers burfl. 

Though the fcene be fweet and fmiling, 
And the filence moil beguiling, 

And fo pure the air, — 
Man, his paradife defiling, 

Pours a poifon there ! 

Look at yonder fimple village,, 
With its church and peaceful tillage, 

Seemingly fo bleft ; 
Mutual hate and mutual pillage 

Truly teU the reft. 

With the tongue's deftroying fabre, 
Neighbour battles againil neighbour, 

Whilft each other's glance 
Tyranny and fervile Labour 

Scowling watch aikance ! 



274 Country Life. 



Wealth, well fawn'd on, and — well-hated; 
Want, — with brutal malice mated ; 

And, to teach the twain, 
Shallow prieftcraft, felf-inflated. 

Dreary, dull, and vain ! 

Ay, Charles Lamb, the wife and witty, 
Gentle lover of the city, 

Senfibly he fpoke, 
When he dealt his pungent pity 

To us country folk : 

All for arfon infecurely, 
All for flander little purely, 

Vext with petty ftrife,--- 
Let no filly mortal furely 

Covet country life. 



II. FOR. 

Stop ! — malign not country pleafure 5 
For there is unminted treafure 

In its quiet calm ; 
In its garden-loving leifure 

Gilead's very balm ! 

In its duties, peace-beftowing, 
In its beauties, overflowing 

All the dewy ground, 
In its mute religion, glowing 

Everywhere around : 



Country Life. 275 



In its unobtrufive fweetnefs, 
In its purity, and meetnefs 

For contented minds 3 
And the beautiful completenefs 

Man in Nature finds. 

Yes, — it is no fault of Nature's, 
If the vice of fallen creatures 

Spots her with a curfe 5 
Man in towns hath viler features, 

And his guilt is worfe. 

Troubles, cares, and felf-denials, 
Thefe are no fuch fpecial vials 

Pour'd on fields and flowers ; 
But there always muft be trials 

In this world of ours. 

Country life, — let us confefs it, — 
Man will little help to blefs it, 

Yet, for gladnefs there, 
We may readily poffefs it 

In its native air. 

Rides and rambles, fports and farming, 
Home, the heart for ever warming, 

Books, and friends, and eafe, — 
Life muft after all be charming, 

Full of joys like thefe. 

Yes, however little gaily, 
And — for man, however frailly 

Check' d with fin and ftrife, — 
Wifdom refts contented daily 

With a country life. 



( 2 7 6 ) 



ism "gmerinm fpts." 
1851. 

TO THE UNION ; FROM A UNIT. 

Giant aggregate of nations, 

Glorious Whole of glorious Parts, 
Unto endlefs generations 

Live United, hands and hearts ! 
Be it ftorm, or fummer-weather, 

Peaceful calm, or battle-jar, 
Stand in beauteous ftrength together, 

Sifter States, as Now ye are t 

Every petty clafs-diffenfion, 

Heal it up, as quick as thought ; 
Every paltry place-pretenfion, 

Crufh it, as a thing of nought : 
Let no narrow private treafon 

Your great onward progrefs bar, 
But remain, in right and reafon, 

Sifter States, as Now ye are ! 

Fling away abfurd ambition ! 

People, leave that toy to kings : 
Envy, jealoufy, fufpicion, 

Be above fuch grovelling things ! 
In each other's joys delighted. 

All your hate be — joys of war, 
Ajnd by all means keep United, 

Sifter States, as Now ye are ! 



From " American Lyrics." 277 

Were I but fome fccrnful ftranger, 

Still my counfel would be jufl , 
Break the band, and all is danger, 

Mutual fear and dark diftruft : 
But, you know me for a brother 

And a friend who fpeak from far, 
Be at one then with each other, 

Siller States, as Now ye are ! 

If it feems a thing unholy 

Freedom's foil by flaves to till, 
Yet, be juft ! and fagely, flowly, 

Nobly, cure that ancient ill : 
Slowly, — hafte is fatal ever 3 

Nobly, — left good faith ye mar ; 
Sagely, — not in wrath to fever 

Sifter States, as Now ye are ! 

Charm'd with your commingled beauty 

England fends the fignal round, 
" Every man muft do his duty " 

To redeem from bonds the bound ! 
Then indeed your banner's brightnefs 

Shining clear from every ftar 
Shall proclaim your joint uprightnefs, 

Sifter States, as Now ye are I 

So, a peerlefs conftellation 

May thofe ftars for ever blaze ! 
Three-and-ten-times-threefold nation, 

Go a-head in power and praife ! 



Like the many-breafted goddefs 
Throned on her Ephefian car, 

Be — one heart in many bodies ! 
Sifter States, as Now ye are. 



1861. 

Like Jezebel's face at her cafement, 

Strangely difmay'd and perplext, 
The World looks forth with amazement 

Marvelling what 's to come next 5 
The World looks round her in wonder 

For Beauty and Strength deftroy'd^ 
For Brotherhood broken in funder, 

And Statecraft quite made void ! 

Alas, for America's glory ! 

Ichabod, — vanifht outright 5 
And all her magnificent ftory 

Told as a dream of the night : 
Alas, for the heroes and fages, 

Sadden'd in Hades to know 
That what they had built for all ages 

Melts as a palace of fnow ! 



And woe, for the ihame and the pity 

That — all for no caufe, to no end — 
City fhould fight againft city, 

And brother with brother contend ! 
Alas, for this libel on Freedom, 

Patriots — gone to the bad, — 
Citizen Arabs of Edom, 

Slave-drivers, liberty-mad ! 

How fadly, through fons fo degraded, 

Pigmies, ill-fprung from great men, 
Even your glories look faded, 

Waihington, Franklin, and Penn ! 
Popular Government ilander'd 

Mid the deep fcorn of the world,— 
Liberty's flar-crowded flandard 

Foul'd by black treafon, and furl'd ! 

Southerners ! fhame on fuch treafon, 

Shame on your folly and guilt ! 
Woe for this war of Unreafon ! 

Woe for the brothers' blood fpilt ! 
Curfe on fuch monfters unhlial 

Tearing their mother to fhreds,— 
Curfe on thofe children of Belial,— 

Curfe on their parricide heads ! 



( 28o ) 



$talg's $tmm. 

i860. 

What hurl'd himfrom power? What loft him his crown? 
And all in one hour has toppled him down ? 
What ruin'd and wreck' d him ? What folly, or fin ? 
Temptation without, or corruption within ? — 
Cruelty, cruelty ! cruelty's crimes, 
Loath'd of all men of all climes and all times ! 
Cruelty, — that was the climax of guilt, 
Innocent blood moil cruelly fpilt ! 
Cruelty ? — Oh, but thou tyrant and fool, 
Who bade thee learn fafety in Cruelty's fchool ? 
Dionyfius ? Nero ? Caligula ? — When 
Were kings made fecurer by outraging Men ? 
Cruelty ? — where did deteftable deeds 
Make friends for their doers in uttermoft needs ? 
Or how mould a Bourbon believe that his fall 
Can wring for him other than — cheers from us all? 
O Francis ! time was — but laft year in the fpring, 
When Europe look'd kindly on thee, the young king ; 
O Francis ! how golden, how grand was thy chance 
Of helping on good by one ftep in advance — 
Of bleffing thy people, and faving thy name 
From the curfe of a father's ill-deeds and ill-fame ! 
One fhort year ago thou waft call'd to thy realm, 
A pilot for refcue by luffing the helm, 



Italy s Nemejis. 281 



But thy bitter pride had it lafh'd hard a-port, 

Down, down with the people ! up, up with the court ! 

Fetters for virtue and freedom and right, 

But Tyranny's favour for fpies and their fpite ! 

The popular voice and its love was thy fneer, 

And fo thy bad choice was to govern by fear : 

Spurning the wife and the good in thy pride, 

The crafty, the wicked, were call'd to thy fide, — 

Jefuits, ever fworn foes to mankind, 

Callous in heart, and contracted in mind, — 

The fbirro, the headfman, the rack, and the fcrew, 

The terrified million, the infolent few, 

The feftering prifons, all flench and defpair, 

Crowded, but beggar' d of daylight and air, 

Black dungeons, where innocents lay in their blood, 

With famine, and fever, and vermin, and mud ! 

Whilfl thou, young Tiberius, with thy proud mate, 

Surfeited both of luxurious Hate, 

Waft planning w r orfe prifons, more deep and more dread, 

Or watching the crucified hanging till dead ! 

And fo, Garibaldi came forth in his ftrength, 
In league with thy Nemefis ftirring at length, — 
In league with the Right, down-trodden fo long, 
And refcued by him from the thraldom of Wrong, — 
In league with thofe noble and generous men 
Buried alive in their Ifchian den, — 
In league with the good upon every fhore, 
And the Great King above them Who reigns evermore ! 

Then, blefs Garibaldi ! — yea, he maU be bleft, 
Hero and conqueror, braveft and belt ! 
Italy, rife ! — ftand forth as one man, 
And blefs him, by finifhing what he began — 



282 Slandered Worth. 



Blefs him, by cutting down liberty's foes, 
Blefs him, by refcuing flaves from their woes, 
Blefs him, by hunting this criminal down, 
And giving King Victor his forfeited crown ! 



In vain, O mountain, this malignant mift 

Hides thy grand brow, and every wrinkle fills ; 
In vain thefe envious levelling clouds infill 

Thou art no higher than the little hills ; 
In vain confpiring foes their powers enlifl: : 
For that, in fpite of all, thy changelefs form 

Triumphant ftands, fublime from age to age, 
Heedlefs of all the furies of the florm, 

And how againfl thy ftrength they break their rage 
With what ftern patience thou canfl calmly wait, 
Anfwering with filent fcorn their clamorous hate, 

Till the true Wind of popular fame blows forth, 
And its juft Sun ihines out to vindicate 

The cloudlefs majefly of flandered worth. 



( 283 ) 



§0fos anli $ifles. 



A SONG FOR VOLUNTEERS. 
To the good old tune " The Roaft Beef of Old England ! M 

In days long ago, when old England was young, 
Her bows were the toughefl that ever were ftrung, 
And fearlefs and frank in their heart and their tongue 

Were thofe old archers of England, 

Like her young riflemen now. 

In days long ago all her yeomen went arm'd, 
And Hardily fought, though they fteadily farm'd, 
And England's fweet daughters were either way charm'd 

With the bold archers of England, 

Like her young riflemen now. 

In days long ago we were famed even then, 
And ever fhall be fo till no one knows when, 
For pretty girls loving the braveft of men, 

Thofe merrymen archers of England, 

Like her young riflemen now. 

In days long ago, all the world was in fear 

Of England's old bowmen, and dared not come here $ 

And now fhall invaders keep equally clear, 

As with thofe archers of England, 

Of her young riflemen now. 



284 A Song for Rifle Clubs. 

Since in our days, as in days long ago, 

When Edwards and Harrys were feared by the foe, 

For England we ftand, and we '11 let the world know 

That fons of thofe archers of England 

Are her young riflemen now ! 



J Sm| for pie tiMs. 

Hurrah for the Rifle ! — In days long ago 

Our fathers were fear'd for the bill and the bow, 

And Edwards and Harrys in battles of old 

Were proud of their archers fo burly and bold : 

While Agincourt, Crefly, and Poictiers long fince, 

With great John of Gaunt, and the gallant Black Prince, 

Tell out from old pages of hiftory {till 

What Englifhmen did with the bow and the bill. 

Hurrah for the Rifle ! — When England requires, 
She Hill {hall be proud of the fons of our fires 5 
And rifle and bayonet then fhall do more 
Than ever did billhook or longbow of yore ; 
From hedgerow and coppice and cottage and farm 
The foreigner's welcome, God wot ! fhall be warm, 
And the crack of the rifle fhall hint to the foe 
How terrible once was the twang of the bow. 



%\t Mlltx €ttta£atifii. 



Away to the War has the Soldier departed, 

And with him both Huiband and Father are gone,- 
His children, half-orphans, are left broken-hearted, 

His half-widow' d wife remains weeping alone ! 
He goes like a Soldier — courageoufly, cheerly, 

To fight for the Right at his country's command, 
But leaves with a pang left thofe he loves dearly 

Should pine, in his abfence, for Want in the land ! 

Oh when in his dreams thofe little ones prattle, 

Let him not wake with the dread on his mind 
That while he is fighting or dying in battle 

The mother and babes may be ftarving behind ! 
And when at the bivouac ftirring the embers 

He chats with his mates of the deeds of the day, 
Let him feel glad, as with thanks he remembers 

That charity blerTes his home far away ! 

A loaf for the day, and a cruft for the morrow, 

And fchool for his children, and work for his wife, 
Enough, to be clear of affliction and forrow, 

And able to fland in the battle of life, — 
Give this to your Soldier, to comfort and fhield him 

In thofe who at home are the Wanderer's care, 
And all that in kindlinefs Here you may yield him, 

Be fure he '11 repay you in gallantry There ! 



( 286 ) 



Wounded foldiers ! lying weak, 

Sick, or ihot, or gafh'd by fwords, 
Liflen ! for your Queen doth fpeak, 

Hearken to her gracious words ! 
From her foul of courage calm 

Earneftly thofe words diitil, 
Dropping like a precious balm, 

Every heart to cheer and thrill. 

" Tell each wounded man apart, 

As they lie in ghaftly groups, 
Tell them how our in moll heart 

Feels for our beloved troops : 
Noble fellows ! fay from us, 

No one yearns on fuch a fcene 
With more fympathy than thus 

Yearns their own admiring Queen. 

•' Tell the men, my wounded fons, 

Simple privates in the ranks, 
That to thofe heroic ones, 

Queen and Prince have fent their thanks: 
Still we think of them in love, 

Praying for them day and night, 
And our truft is ftrong above 

For fuch Champions of the Right." 



( *8 7 ) 



%\t $m't We. 



IN ILLUSTRATION OF THE PRINCESS ROYAL S PICTURE. 

At laft, when Day and Hope are well-nigh fled, 

Her love hath found him dead ! 
Her wife-like love, fo tender and fo brave, 

Hath come too late to fave. 

Oh, not too late ! let that wild forrow ceafe, 

Thy hufband fleeps in peace, — 
Thy hero hath his earthly battle won : 

God's blefTed will be done ! 

Be comforted, kifs reverently now 

That calm, cold, waxen brow 5 
Then hide the burning of thy heroine heart 

In filent grief apart ! 

O ftern and chill tranquillity of Death 

That never anfwereth ! 
O poignant Life ! upon this bloody fod 

Kneeling with Death and God ! 



( 288 ) 



A COURSING CANZONET. 

Cool and fweet is the breath of the morn, 
And dewbeads glitter on truffle and thorn -, 
And linnets and larks are beginning to trill 
Their pfalm to the Sun juft over the hill, 
And all things pleafant and pure and fair 
Bathe in the balmy morning air. 

Hill ! the turf is under thy feet, 
Over it tfeadily, fure and fleet ! 
Steadily, Wonder ! — quietly now, — 
Why, what a hot little fool art thou ! 
Wild and wanton, — it 's very unkind 
To leave poor Gael fo panting behind $ 

Ho ! my greyhound, Soho ! a hare ! 

Good dog, — after her, ftraight and fair $ 

Off does fhe fly, and away does he bound, 

Glorious ! how we are fkimming the ground ! 

Heels above head, — over fhe goes ! 

And pufly fqueals at my greyhound's nofe. 

Home ; hark back ! the games are done, 
Though Caefar's felf has barely begun : 
Look ! let him change the fpur for the pen 
To hunt and to harry the hearts of men, — 
Poffibles do, and impoffibles dare, 
And gallop in fpirit everywhere ! 



( 289 ) 



A man of no regrets 

He goes his fanny way, 
Owing the Paft no load of debts 

The Prefent cannot pay : 
He wedded his firft love, 

Nor loved another fince ; 
He fets his nobler hopes above j 

He reigns in joy a Prince ! 

A man of no regrets, 

He hath no cares to vex, 
No fecret griefs, nor mental nets, 

Nor troubles to perplex : 
Forgivenefs to his fin, 

And help in every need, 
Bleffings around, and peace within, 

Crown him a King indeed ! 

A man of no regrets, 

Upon his Empire free 
The fun of gladnefs never fets, — 

Then who fo rich as he ? 
Yea, God upon thine heart 

Hath pour'd all bleffings down : 
Then yield to Him, with all thou art, 

The homage of thy crown ! 



3 mx & 

FOR MUSIC. 

Ah Memory ! why reproach me fo 

With fhadows of the paft, 
The thrilling hopes of long ago 

That came and went fo fall ? 
Ye tender tones of that dear voice, 

Ye looks of thofe loved eyes, — 
Return, — and bid my heart rejoice, 

For true love never dies ! 

Rejoice ? — O word of Hope ! I may 

When thofe indeed return $ 
For looks and tones fo paft away 

In folitude I yearn ! 
Let others fancy I forget 

The light of thofe dear eyes, — 
I love, — O how I love thee yet ! 

For true love never dies. 



§mlm aito Jtieirtia. 

When the ftar of good fortune is rifing, 

And feems to the zenith to foar, 
How tenderly friends will be prizing 
The beauties forgotten before j 
Oh ! Genius will look very bright 
In the blaze of Profperity's light ! 

But let the dimm'd planet be fetting 

Below the horizon in cloud, 
Right foon will your friends be forgetting 
The gifts they fo frankly allow' d 5 
Ah ! Genius can mow very flight 
In the gloom of Adverfity's night ! 

Yet none the lefs glorious and holy 

Is mining that fan of the foul, 
Let Fortune be lofty or lowly, 

And Friendship rejoice or condole - } 
For Genius muft claim as his right 
True homage by day and by night ! 





! 

( 2 9 2 ) 




€§m ug! 




FOR MUSIC. 


Never j 


50 gloomily, man with a mind ! 


Hope 


is a better companion than fear ; 


Providence, ever benignant and kind, 


Gives 


with a fmile what you take with a tear ; 




All will be right, 




Look to the light, — 


Morning 


is ever the daughter of night, 


All that 


was black will be all that is bright, 




Cheerily, cheerily then ! cheer up ! 


Many a 


foe is a friend in difguife, 


Many 


a forrow a bleffing moil true, 


Helping 


the heart to be happy and wife 


With lore ever precious and joys ever new ; 




Stand in the van, 




Strive like a man ! 


This is the bravefl and clevereft plan, 


Trufting 


in God, while you do what you can, 




Cheerily, cheerily then ! cheer up ! 



( 2 93 ) 




" |0to mttcjf tours* it migljt jjaije 


torn!" 


A TEXT FOR THE DISCONTENTED. 


Honest fellow, fore befet, 




Vext by troubles quick and keen, 




Thankfully confider yet 




" How much worfe it might have 


been : " 


Worthily thy faults deferve 




More than all thine eyes have feen, 


Think thou then with fterner nerve, 




" How much worfe it might have 


been ! M 


Though the night be dark and long, 




Morning foon fhall break ferene, 




And the burden of thy fong, 




" How much worfe it might have 


been :" 


God, the Good One, calls to us 




On His Providence to lean, 




Shout then out devoutly thus, 




" How much worfe it might have 


been! " 



( 294 ) 



1851. 

Christian. England! where fo long 
Freedom's trumpet, clear and ftrong, 
Still has ftirr'd the patriot fong — 

Down with foreign prieftcraft ! 
England ! Truth's own ifland-neft, 
Pure Religion's happy reft, 
Ever fhall thy fons proteft 

Down with foreign prieftcraft ! 

What ! fhall thefe Italian knaves 
Dream again to make us flaves 
From our cradles to our graves 

With their foreign prieftcraft r 
Out on every falfe pretence ! 
Common right and common fenfe 
Shout againft fuch infolence — 

Down with foreign prieftcraft ! 

Ay, — infidious fawning foe, 
Little as you thought it fo, 
England's wrath is all aglow, 

Scorning foreign prieftcraft ! 
Take our Jefbits, if you will, 
England's heart rejects their ill, 
And her mouth is thundering ftill, 

Down with foreign prieftcraft ! 



Hark ! in ancient warmth and worth, 
Earl: and weft and fouth and north, 
Flies the loyal fpirit forth, 

Loathing foreign prieflcraft ! 
Evermore with Rome to cope, 
We will bate nor heart nor hope, 
But our fhout fhall flun the Pope, 

Down with foreign prieftcraft ! 



%\t Inii 



The world can do without us : every one 
Hath every other as his waiting heir -, 
And, though afTeclions be not lacking there, 

Each feeks to win the race we all muft run : 
Be humble then -, thou ftandeft in the ranks 
A little-heeded foldier : for thy fall, 
Even mould meffmates mourn for it at all, 
Be fure a crowd of foes fhall give God thanks 

Heaven fets us here for Duty 5 duty done, 
He calls us hence to the celeflial clime 
Where we fhall wear the medals won in time : 
Let all thy care be Duty then — not Fame ; 

So malt thou find thyfelf a happy fon, 

On whom the BlerTed Father fets His name. 



( 2 9 6 ) 



0ft l*st 



FOR MUSIC. 

I never left the place that knew me, 

And may never know me more, 
Where the cords of kindnefs drew me, 

And have gladden'd me of yore, 
But my fecret foul has fmarted 

With a feeling full of gloom 
For the days that are departed, 

And the place I call'd my Home. 

I am not of thofe who wander 

UnarTeclion'd here and there, 
But my heart mull Hill be fonder 

Of my fites of joy or care $ 
And I point fad Memory's finger 

(Though my faithlefs foot may roam) 
Where I 've moll been made to linger 

In the place I call'd my Home. 



( *97 ) 



A. LOYAL TEXT. 

No fanciful hope, and no cowardly fear 

Shall ever be lord of my breaft, 
An Englifhman gathers his comfort and cheer 

From Duty by Providence bleft; 
The good royal motto, from Normandy won, 

Upholds him by day and by night, 
Adverfity's moon, and Profperity's fun, 

Are fhining in " God and my Right !" 

My God ! the great Guard, the good Ruler, and Friend, 

"Who made me, and guides as He will 5 
My Right ! which His government helps to defend, 

And bids me Hand up for it Hill : 
The heart that has trufted Him well does He love, 

And fills it with heavenly light, 
Rejoiced upon earth with all peace from above, 

And retting on " God and my Right ! " 

My Right — the right way, and my Right — the right arm, 

And my Right — the true rights of the cafe, — 
Strong, honeft, deferving, the triple-tied charm 

That keeps a man firm in his place 5 
With thefe well about us, and God overhead, 

We fear not whatever we fight, 
There never was mortal who fail'd or who fled, 

Whofe motto was " God and my Right ! " 



( 2 9 8 ) 



%\t f mtl €taM. 



The laurel crown ! for duty done, 
For good achieved, and honours won, 
For all of natural gift, or art, 
That thrills and rills an earneft heart 
With generous thoughts and {lining words 
Struck from its own electric chords,— 
On thefe your modern mufes frown, 
Yet thefe deferve the laurel crown ! 

The laurel crown ! for foaring fong 
Eagle-pinion d ? free, and ftrong, 
That, as God gives grace and power 
Confecrates each hallow' d hour 
Wifely, as a patriot ought, 
By burning word and glowing thought, — 
On this pour all your honours down — 
To this belongs the laurel crown ! 

The laurel crown ! in common eyes 

A wreath of leaves, a paltry prize, 

A filly, worthlefs, weed-like thing, 

Fit coronet for folly's king : 

The laurel crown ! in wifdom's ken 

A call from God to waken men, 

Left in thefe mammon depths they drown,- 

This is thy glory, laurel crown ! 



An Efcape. 299 

Yes, laurel crown ! if feen aright 
A majefty of moral might 
To lead the marTes on to good, 
And rule the furging multitude 
By nobler and more manly fongs 
Than to fome troubadour belongs, 
Who feebly warbles for renown, — 
Not fuch be thou, my laurel crown ! 



%n tope. 

An hour of peril in the Lydflep caves : 

Down the fieep gorge, grotefquely boulder-piled 
And temper-worn, as Ocean harrying wild 
Up it in thunder breaks and vainly raves, — 
My hafle hath fped me to the rippled land, 
Where, arching deep, o'erhang on either hand 
Thefe halls of Amphitrite, echoing clear 
The ceafelefs mournful mufic of the waves : 

Ten thoufand beauteous forms of life are here ; 
And long I linger, wandering in and out 
Among the fea-flowers tapefiried about 

All over thefe wet walls : a fhout of fear, — 
The tide, the tide ! — I turn'd and ran for life, — 
And battled fafely through that billowy ftrife ! 



" f ifarfg— ^palitg— jfritoiti ! " 

LIBERTY. 

Liberty ! — Who fhall be free ? — 
The winds of the air, and the waves of the fea, 
And the beafl: in his lair, and the bird on its tree, 
And the favage who battles with boars and with bears 
For the root that he grubs, or the flefh that he tears, — 

Liberty, thefe are for thee ! 

Liberty ! — How can it be 
That reafon, and duty, and fcience, and ikill, 
And order, and beauty, are lawgivers ilill, — 
And yet that refponfible Man can be found 
Untrammell'd by rules, and by harnefs unbound ? — 

Liberty ! No man is free. 

Liberty ! — fadnefs to fee 
Were the heart without love, or the mind without fear, 
For the Father above, and His family here 5 
And Faith and Affection, conflraining or fond, 
What are they but chains, an invincible bond, 

Liberty, manacling Thee ! 

Liberty ! look not on me 
With a Siren's fmile on thy beautiful face, 
And a treacherous wile in thy warm embrace : 
No ! let me feel fetter d, — a martyr, a ilave 
To Honour and Duty from cradle to grave ! 

Liberty, I'll none of Thee. 



Liberty ! — " fettered," yet free : 
For the chain that we wear is of rofes and balm, 
And the badge that we bear is The Conqueror's palm, 
And the licenle we loathe is a freedom to Sin, 
And the thraldom we love is Obedience within, 

Liberty, leading to Thee ! 

Liberty ! — for thou fhalt be 
My glorious reward in a happier clime, 
From the hand of my Lord, who hath bound me to 

Time 
As a bondfman here for a year and a day 
To reign as a King for ever and aye, 

Holy, and happy, and Free ! 

EQUALITY. 

Pining Envy's feeble hope, 
Shipwreck's laft defpairing rope, 
Idle wifh from Satan fent, 
Ruffian prize of Difcontent, 
Dull, debating, fordid thing 
Crufhing down each generous fpring, 
Stern Procruftes' iron bed 
To rack the feet or lop the head, — 
"Where in all life's focial book 
Shall your purblind ftatefman look, 
Where, — Equality, to find 
A fillier lie to cheat mankind ? 

Tell the truth, yea, tell it out, 
Nature ! without fear or doubt -, 



Tell it out that never yet 
Have two utter equals met : 
Leaves and fruits on every tree, 
Fowls and filri of air and fea, 
Stars on high with all their hoft, 
Pebbles from a kingdom's coaft ; 
Search them all, fome difference ftill 
Clings to each for good or ill ; 
Search the world — all worlds — around, 
Perfect twins were never found ; 
Babes of various realm and race, 
Men of every age and place, 
Gifts of God, or wife denials, 
Pleafures, forrows, triumphs, trials, 
All things differ everywhere, — 
Never two can ftart quite fair, — 
Never two could keep the ftart 
In foul or body, mind or heart, 
While the fhorteft winter's day 
To its morrow gloom' d away ! 



Would then Vanity, and Sloth, 
And Difappointment, fcorning both, 
And Pride and Meannefs, hand in hand 
With Crime and low Ambition ftand 
To fcheme and plot a wholefome plan 
Utterly to ruin Man, — 
Then mould they level love and hate, 
And grind to atoms all things great, 
Corrupt all good, befoul all fair, 
Make gladnefs weep, and hope defpair, 



And, impotent to raife the dead, 
Kill the living in their ftead, 
By working out the poifon'd lie 
Your fages call Equality. 

No ! thou phantom falfe and fair, 

Rainbow-caltle in the air, 

Fit enough for fays or elves, 

But not for mortals like ourfelves, 

In this hive of human kind 

Where fome can fee, and fome are blind, 

Where fome will work though others play, 

And many fwear while many pray, 

Where difeafe and age at length 

Muft bend and bow to manhood's ftrength, 

Where every one of God's good gifts 

The favour'd from his fellow lifts, — 

Equal ! — equal r — turn : the word 

In truer letters fpells Abfurd. 

Equal ? there is One alone 

Reigns Coequal on His throne 3 

Nor can any creature dare 

With fuch EiTence to compare. 

All things elfe through change and chance, 

And time and place and circum fiance, 

And partial Providence moft juft, 

And man's " I will," and God's "you muft,' 

All things, differing each from each, 

Vainly ftill their leffon teach, 

If Equality be thus 

PofTible or wife for us, 



304 Fraternity. 



Where with various means and powers 
In a trial-world like ours 
We mult work as bell we may, 
And leave it to The Judgment Day 
To declare how ill or well 
Earth's advantages may tell : 
Then, lhall equal meed be given 
By the jultice of High Heaven : 
Then, fhall compenfation true 
Set us all in places new : 
And, — how many counted firfl: 
There lhall Hand the worlt accurlt ! 
And, — how many here fo poor, — 
Lazarus laid at Dives' door, — 
There, inftead of lalt and leaft, 
Firfl lhall lit at Life's great feaft ! 



FRATERNITY. 

Away, away, Sufpicion ! 

And hail, thou generous heat; 
With tears of jult contrition 

Let me walh my brothers' feet : 
For I have linn'd, — how often ! 

While Charity Hood by 
This llony heart to foften, 

And to melt this frozen eye ! 

Yes, — I have err'd, like others. 
By coldnefs and conltraint, 

Forgetting we are brothers, 
The linner as the faint, — 



Fraternity. 305 



All children of one Father, 
All guilty and all weak, 

And bound by thefe the rather 
Every wanderer to feek ! 

Awake then ! holy yearning 

The hearts of men to thrill, — 
Afcend ! fweet incenfe burning 

To warm the human will j 
Oh let us dare with boldnefs 

To buril this girdling chain 
Of common focial coldnefs, 

And to love as babes again ! 

In franknefs, and in fairnefs, 

Go forth and reap the earth, — 
Its richnefs and its rarenefs, 

Its more than money's-worth j 
Go forth, and win from others 

Their honour and their love, 
By treating them as brothers, 

And the fons of God above ! 



For in that brighter Sequel 
To which our beings tend 

At lafl we mall be equal- 
In One Redeeming Friend ! 

And He, who made as brothers, 
Our Lord, and Brother too, 

Hath gone before the others 
To prepare for them and you 1 
x 



306 The Prince of Wales in America. 

Thus then {hall heirs of Heaven, 

But not the flaves of fin, — 
Forgiving and forgiven, 

This holy triad win \ 
Free, — equal, — and fraternal, 

In God's own way and time, 
To live the life eternal, 

And to love the love fublime ! 



f \% fnna of WAn m %wm. 

i860. 

Young Prince, with throbbing hearts and tear-dimm'd 
gaze, 

Well wert thou folio w'd of us all in love, 
While thofe glad millions throng' d thy path with praife, 
A blamelefs path in all thy words and ways, 

Wife as the ferpent, harmlefs as the dove : 
Her thanks to Heaven thine England well may raife, 

Our States' befl Hope-flower ! for all thou art -, 
To Heaven all thanks, — that thy fweet fpirit flill, 
Making the World with admiration thrill, 
Charm'd great America's millions, frank and free, — 

Who, yearning over thee with eyes and heart, 
And thundering out thy welcome like the fea, 
Wept manly tears of grief at loflng thee, 

And fcarce would let their gracious guell depart. 



f m ItflMlita* 



A vaunt — Exclufions cold and proud ! — 
Your doom is come, your day is pall ; 
Not even Fafhion dares to call 

Contempt upon the common crowd. 

The lofty noble now muft bend 
To own his humbler brother- man, 
And floop to teach the artizan, 

In hope betimes to make a friend. 

It will not do to ftand afide 5 
Rank has its duties, as its dues 5 
The latter will we not refufe, 

If met with anything but pride. 

It fhall not ferve, that old-time plan 
Of making worfhip cling to birth ; 
A magnate fhorn of private worth 

Is but the fcorn and fhame of Man. 

O Rank ! from nobler fires derived, 

O Wealth ! purfe-rich but nothing more, 
Grow worthier of your ftate and llore, 

Or of their homage go deprived. 



30 8 True Nobility. 



The time is come for truer things, 
When honour, love, and all befide, 
Refufed to fupercilious pride, 

Are paid to peafants as to kings. 

For both alike are brethren true, 
Each in his ftation doing right/ — 
Beheld in fuperhuman light 

God's fervants, earning wages due. 

None will deny the firft and bell 
To king and noble, gladly given. 
If they but live as, under Heaven, 

Set in high place to help the reft : 

But let them heed this mighty truth, — 
(Which, for their weaknefs, we would ken 
Indulgently, as due to men 

Pamper'd in age and fnared in youth)' — 

If pride, or lull, or floth forlorn 
Dim and defile their high ellate, 
Our willing love is turn'd to hate, 

Our ready homage fmiles in fcorn. 



( 3°9 ) 



% §mt|*r loratjjatt. 
1850. 

Ho ! Brother, I 'm a Britifher, 

A chip of heart of oak, 
That wouldn't warp or fwerve or ftir 

From what I thought or fpoke, — 
And you — a blunt and honeft man, 

Straightforward, kind, and true, 
I tell you, Brother Jonathan, 

Thai you 're a Briton too. 

I know your heart, an open heart, 

I read your mind and will, 
A greyhound ever on the ftart 

To run for honour flill 5 
And ihrewd to fcheme a likely plan, 

And flout to fee it done, 
I tell you, Brother Jonathan, 

That you and I are one. 

There may be jealoufies and nrife, 

For men have felfifli ends, 
But petty quarrels ginger life, 

And help to feafon friends -, 
And pundits who, with folemn fcan, 

Judge humans mofl aright, 
Decide it, tefty Jonathan, 

That brothers always fight. 



Two fledgling fparrows in one neft 

Will chirp about a worm, 
Then how ihould eaglets meekly reft, 

The children of the ftorm ! 
No ! while their ruftled pinions fan 

The eyrie's dizzy fide, 
Like you and me, my Jonathan, 

It 's all for Love and Pride ! 

" God fave the Queen " delights you ftill, 

And " Britifh Grenadiers," 
The good old ftrains your heartftrings thrill, 

And catch you by both ears 5 
And we, — Oh hate us if you can^ 

For we are proud of you, 
We like you, Brother Jonathan, 

And " Yankee Doodle " too ! 

There 's nothing foreign in your face, 

Nor ftrange upon your tongue, 
You come not of another race 

From bafer lineage fprung ; 
No, brother ! though away you ran, 

As truant boys will do, 
Still true it is, young Jonathan, 

My fathers father'd you. 

Time was, — it wafn't long ago, 
Your grandfire went with mine 

To battle traitors, blow for blow, 
For England's royal line 5 



Or tripp'd to court to kifs Queen Anne, 

Or worfhip mighty Befs, 
And you and I, good Jonathan, 

Went with them then, I gueis. 

Together both — 'twas long ago — 

Among the Rofes fought 5 
Or charging fierce the Paynim foe 

Did all knight-errants ought : 
As Cavalier or Puritan 

Together pray'd or fwore, — 
For John's own Brother Jonathan, 

Was only John of yore I 

There lived a man, a man of men, 

A King on fancy's throne, 
We ne'er mall fee his like again, 

The globe is all his own 5 
And,- if we claim him of our clan, 

He half belongs to you, 
For Shakfpeare, happy Jonathan, 

Is yours and Britain's too ! 

There was another glorious name, 

A poet for all time, 
Who gain'd the double-firft of Fame, 

The beautiful-fublime 5 
And let us hide him as we can, 

More miferly than pelf, 
Our Yankee brother Jonathan 

Cries halves in Milton's felf ! 



312 To Brother Jonathan. 

Well, well : and every praife of old, 

That makes us famous ftill, 
You would be juft, and may be bold 

To ihare it if you will, — 
Since England's glory iiril began, 

Till — juft the other day, 
The half is yours ! but, Jonathan, 

Why did you run away ? 

O Brother, could we both be one 

In nation and in name, 
How gladly would the very fun 

Lie bafking in our fame ! 
In either world to lead the van 

And go a-head for good, 
While earth to John and Jonathan 

Yields tribute gratitude. 

Add but your flripes and golden ftars 

To brave St. George's crofs, 
And never dream of mutual wars, 

Two dunces' mutual lofs j 
Let us two blefs where others ban^ 

And love when others hate, 
And fo, my cordial Jonathan., 

We 11 fit, I calculate. 

What more ? I touch not holier firings 

A loftier ftrain to win, 
Nor glance at prophets, priefts, and kings, 

Or heavenly kith or kin ; 



As friend with friend, and man with man, 

Oh let our hearts be thus, 
As David's love to Jonathan, 

Be Jonathan's to us ! 



%i €m\\t pota 

i860. 

Fair Caftle Mona, — which an unthroned King 
Built for his People's folace and delight, 
A Sans-Souci, where all is gay and bright, 
To thee my pleafant memories would I bring ; 
For there, by genial day and brilliant night, 
We lived to fearl and play and dance and ling, — 
Chefs, archery, billiards, whift, the fail, the drive,- 
Or ftroll'd, in pictured groups to charm Watteau, 
A crowd of friends to keep the heart alive, — 
Friends that in change uncealing come and go 
Like this near fea, with reftlefs ebb and flow, 

The parable of Life -, for, footh to tell, 
There is much fadnefs in our funny fhow, 

Where the flrft greeting links the lafl farewell. 



18.51. 

Ye Thirty noble Nations 

Confederate in One ! 
That keep your Harry ftations 

Around the Weflern Sun, — 
I have a glorious million, 

And muft obey the call, — 
A claim ! and a petition ! 

To fet before you All. 

Away with party blindnefs, 

Away with petty fpite ! 
My Claim is one of Kindnefs, 

My Prayer is one of Right 3 
And while in grace ye liften, — 

For tendernefs, I know 
Your eyes fhall dim and gliften, 

Your hearts mail thrill and glow. 

For, on thofe hearts is written 

The fpirit of my fong, — 
I claim your love for Britain, 

In fpite of every wrong ! 
I claim it for — your mother, 

Your Mer, and your fpoufe, 
Your father, friend, and brother, 

The " Heftor " of your vows ! 



" Te Thirty Noble Nations." 3 1 5 

In fpite of all the evils 

That ftatefmen ever brew'd, 
Or bufy printers' -devils, 

Or Celtic gratitude, — 
In fpite of politicians 

And diplomatic fufs, 
Your feelings and traditions 

Are cordially with us ! 

Oh yes ! your recollections 

Look back with flreaming eye 
To pour thofe old affections 

On fcenes and days gone by 5 
Your Eagle well remembers 

His dear old ifland-neft, 
And forrow flirs the embers 

Of love within his breafl ! 

Ah ! need I tell of places 

You dream and dwell on flill ? 
Thofe old familiar faces 

Of Englifh vale and hill — 
The (ites you think of, fobbing, 

And feek as pilgrims feek, 
With brows and bofoms throbbing, 

And tears upon your cheek ! 

Or mould I touch on glories 

That date in ages gone, 
Thofe dear hiftoric flories 

When England's fame was won, — 



3 1 6 " Te Thirty Noble Nations T 

The tales your children thronging 
So gladly hear you tell, 

And note their father's longing, 
And love that longing well ! 

For language, follies, fafhions, 

Religion, honour, fhame, 
And human loves and paffions, 

Oh ! we are juft the fame ; . 
You, you are England, growing 

To Continental Hate, 
And we Columbia, glowing 

With all that makes you great ! 

Yes, Anglo-Saxon brother, 

I fee your heart is right, — 
And we will warm each other , 

With all our loves alight ; 
In feeling and in reafon 

My Claim is ftow'd away, — 
And killing is in feafon 

For ever and a day ! — 

And now in frank contrition, 

O brother mine, give heed, — 
And hear the juft Petition 

My feeble tongue would plead 3 
I plead acrofs the waters. 

So deeply crimfon-ftain'd, 
For Afric's fons and daughters 

Whom freemen hold enchain' d ! 



" 2~e Thirty Noble Nations." 317 

I taunt you not unkindly 

With ills you did not make, 
I would not wifh you blindly 

In haite the bond to break : 
But tenderly and truly 

To file away the chain, 
And render juftice duly 

To Man's Eftate again ! 

Oh, judge ye how degrading, — 

A Chriftian bought and fold ! 
And human monfters trading 

In human flefh for gold ! 
When ruthleflly they plunder 

Poor Afric's homes defiled, 
And all to fell — afunder ! 

The mother, and her child. 

O free and fearlefs Nation, 

Wipe out this damning fpot, 
Earth's worft abomination, 

And nature's blackeft. blot : 
Begin and fpeed the rather 

To help with hand and eye 
The children of your Father 

Beneath His tropic iky. 

He — He who form'd and frees us 

And makes us white within, 
Who knows how Holy Jesus 

May love that tinted fkin ? 



3 1 8 " Ye Thirty Noble Nations." 

For none can tell how darkly 

The fun of Jewry Ihed 
Its burning ihadows ftarkly 

On Jesu's homelefs head. 

And lo ! One great falvation 

Hath burft upon the World, — 
And God's Illumination 

Like noonday mines unfurl' d -, 
Shall bonds or colour pale it ? 

Candace's Eunuch — fay ! — 
The firft, though black, to hail it, 

And love the Gofpel Day ! 

Columbia, well I note it 

That half your fons are ftrong 
Againft this ill, and vote it 

A folly and a wrong ; 
Yet, lurks there not a loathing, 

Ay, with your beft inclined, 
Againft that fable clothing 

Of Man's own heart and mind ? 

I charge you by your power, 

Your freedom and your fame, 
To fpeed the bleffed hour 

That wipes away this Shame : 
By all life's hopes and wiihes 

And fears beyond the grave, 
Renounce thofe blood-bought riches, 

And frankly free the flave ! 



Liberia to America. 3 1 9 

So let whatever threaten, 

While God is on our fide, 
Columbia and Britain 

The world mail well divide,— 
Divide ? — No ! in one tether 

Of Anglo-Saxon might 
We '11 hold the world together 

In peace and love and right ! 



Ptt to %mm. 

Foster-mother, fhrewd and ftern, 

Favour yet thy fable child ! 
Gracioufly and frankly turn 

With, a heart well reconciled : 
Be not thou the laft to bid 

Africa's young Hope GoD-fpeed, — 
Let not all thy love be hid 

From thy daughter's day of need ! 

England, with maternal heart, 

Cheers us on, and clears our way j 
And her Bayard's generous part 

France has nobly will'd to play : 
Wherefore then the laii art thou 

Thus to recognife our claim, — 
Equal and fraternal now, 

Free in Hate, and race, and name ? 



320 To Certain of" the Fourth Eft ate T 



Have we not deferved right well 

Of mankind and thee forfooth ? 
Is it but a boaft to tell 

That our progrefs helps the truth ? 
Be not then the laft to look 

Kindly on Liberia's light, — 
Quicken'd by the Bleffed Book, 

And made glorious by the Right. 

Great America, behold ! 

Thou, through us, mall cure anon 
Man's deep leprofy of old, 

Noah's curfe on Ham's dark fon ; 
Be not then the laft to fend 

Generous greeting o'er the waves, 
But with gracious glance befriend 

Thine own fons, no longer Haves ! 



fur €txtm\\ flf "ifte $avxt$ Estate/' 

Ye that fteer the minds of men, 

Pilots of the public will, 
By the rudder of the pen 

Guiding us to good or ill, — 
Who fhall tell how vail your power, 

Power to curfe, or power to blefs, 
Secret defpots of the hour, 

Monarchs of the mighty Prefs ? 



To Certain of" the Fourth Eftate" 321 

Kings uncrown' d, unfeen, unknown ! 

Namelefs chiefs in every land ! 
Of yourfelves your power is grown, 

And within yourfelves fhall ftand — 
Strongly, — till yourfelves alone 

Change with fuicidal hand 
That firm pyramid of flone 

To a crumbling hill of fand ! 

Till ye change it : till good fenfe 

Leaves the dull or venal page ; 
Till good purpofe banifh'd thence 

Gives its place to party rage ; 
Till your wifdom, wit, and worth, 

Drown' d in calumnies and ftrife, 
Change the nobleft power on earth 

To the meaner! plague in life ! 

If ye truckle to the bad 

By the good man's flander'd name 5 
If ye make the wicked glad 

Through religion put to lhame $ 
If, inftead of truth well fown, 

Reckleflly ye broadcafl lies, 
And with rumours bubble-blown 

Cheat awhile our ears and eyes, — 

It is but yourfelves you cheat, 

Cheat of honour, love, and trull, — 

And you cut away your feet, 
Like a Dagon in the dun 1 3 

Y 



322 For the Invalid Ladies' Injlitution. 

All your ftrength is weaknefs then, 

Lying as a Samfon fborn, 
Till the " public praife " of men 

Comes to be their common fcorn ! 



■ Jw i\t ittiraltir f aims' institution. 

The gall that curdles in Affliction's cup 

Is no peculiar poifon-drop for thofe 
Who, fteep'd in Poverty, muft drink it up, 

Harden'd, from life's dark daybreak to its clofe, 

By want and toil and all the poor man's woes, — 
But, ftill more bitter is its tafte to fome, 

Who, haply born of Dives in his wealth, 

At eventide with Lazarus muft fup, 
To unufed hardfhip innocently come, 

In need and lonelinefs and broken health : 

For fuch we plead ; rejoice them in their forrow, 
The rather that their high-bred grief is dumb ; 

With gentle wifdom do them good by ftealth ; 
Their cafe to-day may be our own to-morrow. 



fjtotjpr's " iatbmto ! " 

Bravo ! brave old Teuton heart, 

Noble " Marfhal Forwards ! 
Bravo ! every better part, — 
Nature, Providence, and Art, — 

All are fhouting Forwards 5 
If we gain, to gain the more, 
Preinng on to things before, 

Ever marching forwards 3 
If we lofe, — by fwift attack 
Soon to win thofe lolTes back 

By the rule of — Forwards ! 

Forwards 5 it 's the way of life, 
Always urging forwards, — 
Be it peace, or be it ltrife, 
Stagnant-ripe, or tempeft-rife, 

All is moving forwards ; 
Generations live and die, 
Stars are journeying on the Iky 

By the law of forwards ; 
Space and Time, and you, and I, 
All — bat God's Eternity — 
Tend for ever forwards ! 



So, good youth, go on and win ! 

Conquer! lives in Forwards ; 
Go, if once you well begin, 
Steering clear of felf and fin, 

Forwards, ever forwards ! 
Never could the foe withfland 
Honeft Blucher's one command, 

Forwards, foldiers ! forwards,- 
Never fliall the foe be met 
Bold enough to front thee yet, 

If thy face is Forwards ! 



Higher, higher, ever higher, — 
Let thy watchword be " Afpire ! 

Noble Chriflian youth $ 
Whatfoe'er be God's belief!, 
Try to do that duty befl 

In the ftrength of Truth. 

Let a jufl ambition fire 
Every motive and defire 

God and man to ferve : 
Man, with zeal and honour due, 
God, with gratitude mofl true, 

And all the fpirit's nerye ! 



Let not Doubt thine efforts tire, 
God will give what all require, — 

Raiment, home, and food ! 
And with thefe contented well, 
Bid thine afpirations fwell 

To the Higheft Good ! 

From the perils deep and dire 
Of Temptation's fenfual mire 

Keep thy chaflen'd feet; 
Dread, and hate, and turn away 
From the lure that leads aftray, 

Satan's pleafure-cheat ! 

And, while thus a felf-denier, 
Stand the flalwart felf-relier, — 

Bravely battling on, 
Though alone, — no foul alive 
Ever ftoutly dared to ftrive 

But faw the battle won ! 

Though thy path be thorn and brier, 
Every ftep mall bring thee nigher 

To Creation's prize 5 
With "Excelfior" on thy flag, 
Thou malt tread the topmofi crag, 

Climbing to the Ikies. 

Higher, then, and always higher, — 
Let thy motto be " Afpire ! " 

Whofoe'er thou be 5 
Holy liver ! happy dier ! 
Earth's poor bell and Heaven's quire 

Are referved for thee ! 



( 3*6 ) 



England ! ever fwift and ftrong 

To deliver and to blefs 
From the tyranny of Wrong 

All the children of diftrefs, 

Mother England ! whofe great love 

Yearning o'er the human race 
Imitateth God above,, 

Helping Man in every place, — 

Yet, — there be fome fpots of fhame 

Tarnilhing thy glory's good, 
And the greatnefs of thy name 

Dimming as with tears of blood, — 
Many evils, many crimes, 

In the face of Earth and Heaven, 
Even to thefe better times, 

Rampant, rank, and — unforgiven ! 

O my country ! who can look 

On thy field of bitter tares 
Branded by the Holy Book, 

Heedlefs of thy fins and fnares ? 
Yea, — our hearts would fail and faint 

Did not Hope and Faith depend, 
Link'd with Charity, fweet faint, 

God fhall help us yet to mend ! 



Look you 5 take but one fad fcene, 

One of many darkling ftil], 
Where the good that fliould have been 

All is blighted into ill, — 
Our Religion, Knowledge, Laws 

Scandalifed, and millions flain, 
While the heathen mock — becaufe 

Chriften'd men will fin for gain ! 

Yonder vaft induftrious realm 

We, at lucre's bated breath, 
Like a torrent overwhelm 

With the very juice of Death ; 
China, poifon'd to the core, 

Pleads to God againft the fpell 
Englilh commerce dares to pour 

O'er her people drugg'd by hell ! 

Opium ! not the viper's fang, 

Opium ! not the upas fap, 
Nor where nightfhade berries hang 

Dropping death on nature's lap, — 
Not all horrid hates combined 

Can be mingled into worfe 
Than thy mifchief to mankind, 

Soul's and body's utter curfe ! 

Treacherous, pleafure-feeming pain, — 
Smiling foe, that mines by Health 

All the heart and all the brain, 
All the hope and all the health, — 



328 The Opium Trade. 

Murderer ! — but, inch by inch, 

Dreadfully differing life 
Out of nerves too dull'd to flinch 

From thy keen and cruel knife, — 

Oh the forrow and the fhame 

That for millions flaughter'd fb, 
England, England bears the blame — 

Yea, their everlafting woe ! 
England pours her opium in, 

Though fad China pleads to fpare, 
And the mifery and the fin 

Riot infamoufly there ! 

True -, from this our letter laws 

Hypocritically fhrink, 
But for mighty Mammon's caufe 

At the wicked traffic wink 5 
True ; they fmuggle — and we fell ! 

And if buyers die — what then ? 
Sycee filver pays us well 

For the lives and fouls of men ! 

Fool ! if even God were Not, 

And if Man lived nevermore, 
If no curfe, no deep plague-fpot 

Blafled both thy foul and ftore, — 
Fool '.—the land, the flail, the toil 

Wafled thus on poifon juice, 
Should in corn, and wine, and oil, 

Plenty, health, and wealth produce ! 



The Golden Mean. 



3 2 9 



Crowded China flaves and flarves 

Famine-hungry to be fed, 
Heaping high her glutted wharves 

With rich merchandife for bread, — 
But — thofe ill-begotten gains 

Drag the teats of commerce dry, 
Roguery the bullion drains, 

And the ftagnant markets die ! 

Friend of commerce, friend of Man ! 

Lo, the folly of this crime, 
Halte, and as we ought and can, 

Wipe it from the fcroll of time ! 
Happily, thofe poifon drops 

Feller on ephemeral weeds -, 
Happily, for nobler crops 

Yearning Earth aiks better feeds ! 



%\t §0ttrat pan. 

" Give me neither poverty nor riches." 

Pageants rare of fplendid wafte 
Hurried on with glittering hafte ; 
Honours high, and fafhions gay, — 
Tearing pomp by night and day 5 
Luxuries that never ceafe 
Rich in every zeft but — peace 3 



330 The Golden Mean. 



Flattering homage, fickly fweet, 
Pleafures — pleafures ? falfe and fleet, — 
"Who fhall fwear that rank and wealth 
Have one blifs except by Health 
When the great, the rich, the proud 
Stoop to imitate the crowd ? 

Aching toil, or ftarving reft 3 
Difappointment's bleeding breaftj 
Hopes of better, never here 5 
Luck a laggard in the rear 5 
Cellar, children, curies, cries, 
Furious crime, or fawning lies, — 
Food ? the fouleft, fcantly dealt 5 
Pain ? ay, pain for ever felt 5 
Who, with Francis, who can praife, 
Poverty, thy works and ways, 
Till they rife above defpair, 
Till Content hath fmother'd Care ? 

Give me, Bleffed Father ! give 
Jufl enough in love to live ; 
Give me what is truly good — 
Grace, and food, and gratitude 5 
Kindly give me patience, health, 
Anything but wafleful Wealth -, 
Wifely in Thy mercy grant 
Anything but wafting Want 5 
That I may not through excefs 
Sin from want or wantonnefs, — 
That I may be clear and clean, 
Lucid in the Golden Mean. 



Dearest England, Mother England, 

Happy in fuch Chriftian fons, 
Praiie thy God, yea, fhout and fing, Land, 

For thefe nobly fuffering ones ! 
Praiie Him, that their trial feafon 

Met with energy in time, 
Borne by patient faith and reafon, 

Stands this fpectacle fublime. 

Not, when India proved thy daughters 

Heroines all in peril's hour, — 
Not, when ruffling Britifh waters 

Dark invafion feem'd to lour, — 
Not, when, arm'd yet undefiant, 

Peaceful but prepared wert Thou, — 
More ferene or felf-reliant 

Was thy forehead then than Now. 

England ! God hath tried thee often ; 

Still be thou His faithful found ; 
Still may grace thy great heart foften, 

Still thy charities abound : 
So, the heavieft, harder!: trial 

Thou fhalt conquer evermore, — 
And Love's vafe, not Judgment's vial, 

Break in bleffings on thy ihore ! 



frag fair. 

Light as flakes of falling fnow 

Drop the lilent-footed hours ; 
And the days, — they come and go, 
And the years — we fcarcely know 

How their frofts, and fruits, and flowers, 
Tranfient crops of weal and woe, 
Change, and pafs, and perifli fo ! 
While we mufe upon To-day, 
Lo ! the dream has died away $ 
And there lives what was To-morrow, 
With its prefent joy or forrow, 
Pains and pleafures, fear and hope, 
A variable kaleidofcope : 
So on, fo on 3 till years have fped 
By tens and twenties over head, 
And thofe flakes that fell unfelt 
Have grown to fnows — that never melt ! 



st. george's, doncaster. 

O wreck of many good and precious things ! 

O thoufand glories matter' d to the ground! 
O Ruin, — where D eft.ru 6tion's fiery wings 

Have flapp'd, and fcorch'd, and ravaged all around ! 
O Providence, — whofe deep determinings 

No wifdom can defeat, no thought can found, — 
Alas ! how ihall we well and wifely fearch 
The mind of God in this — a ruin'd Church ? 

For lo, the lofs ! Religion's beauteous fane, 
For eight long centuries her holy home, 

Where facred flory flain'd each pictured pane, 
And Learning archived many a rare old tome, — 

Where Gothic fculpture, lofty, pure, and plain, 
Stood a protefling trophy won from Rome/ — 

All burnt, all blafled ! — Who may read aright 

The will of Heaven in this unholy fight ? 

Ye fhall difcern it, though your eyes be dim. 
If teachably and humbly frill ye fearch : — 

God is a Spirit ; thofe who worfnip Him 
Make not a mediate idol of His Church > 

Mounting on eagle wings of cherubim, 

They linger not to deck the temple-porch, — 

But ferving One whofe temple is all fpace, 

They feek Him always and in every place ! 



334 Alice Evelyn. 



Yet, muft we note the low eftate of Man, 
And help on earth his earthly nature Hill 5 

And, it is wife and duteous, where we can, 
To counteract by good permitted ill ; 

And, if we work eternal Mercy's plan, 

We glorify our God through man's free will 5 

And He that bade us worfhip Him aright 

Said, — Make My court and fervice your delight. 

Therefore, with energy and zeal difcreet, 
Haflen to raife this holy houfe again ; 

With decent fplendour, as is right and meet, 
Give God once more His confecrated fane : 

He waits in grace to blefs your willing feet, 
And thofe who ferve Him, never ferve in vain : 

So bring your offerings, and your alms outpour, 

And rear St. George for God and Man once more ! 



Beautiful Alice, ferene little faint, 

My treafure ! — O better than mine, — 
What mind can imagine, or eloquence paint 

Thy gladnefs and glory divine ? 
A bright happy fpirit, made perfect and free, 

On whom The Good Jesus hath fmiled, 
This ecftacy now hath beatified thee, 

My bleffed and beautiful child ! 



Alice Evelyn. 335 



Ah ! fairefl, and pureft, and deareft of all, 

Sweet babe of two years and a half, 
How painful a pleafure it is to recall 

The ring of thy once merry laugh -, 
How touching to dream of that loved little face 

With its martyr-expreffion of pain, 
And the tender blue eyes where angelical grace 

Shone patiently fmiling again ! 

What virion was ever more piteous than this, — 

To watch her, fo wan and fo weak, 
With white little hands reaching up for a kifs, 

When faint and unable to fpeak ; 
What memory ever fo joyous, — that oft 

Thofe dear little hands fhe would raife, 
So tremblingly feeble, fo fmall and fo foft, 

In prayer and the mufic of praife ! 

O Death ! what a lovelinefs, holy and calm, 

All filently folemnly fweet, 
Inverted with blifs and anointed with balm 

My babe from her face to her feet ! 
The iilken fringed eyelailies flept on her cheek, 

And her mouth was a rofe-bud half-blown, 
And her fingers were folded fo prayerfully meek, 

And her foot was a lily in flone ! 

In an ark fnowy-white with its lilvery fheen, 
And fcatter'd with flow' rets of fpring, 

Deep under the turf all mouy and green, 
We have left thee, thou dear little thing ! 



336 Alice Evelyn. 



In hope, though in grief, — in affection and prayer, 

Affured of the foon-coming hour 
When that precious root, buried tearfully there, 

Shall fhoot up again as a flower ! 

With hyacinth bulbs we have yearningly traced 

In her garden her muflcal name, 
And know that wherever each bulb hath been placed 

It furely ftiall bloffom the fame -, 
So thou, hidden rootlet of life and of light, 

Though feeming to moulder away, 
Shalt break away bright from the prifon of Night 

To bloom for Eternity's day ! 

My glorified Alice ! look joyouily down 

Wherever in fpirit thou art, 
And fuffer the gleam of thy wings and thy crown 

To gladden the eyes of my heart ! 
Thofe thin picking fingers, at reft from all pain, 

Stretch forth from the ikies for a kifs, — 
That faltering tongue, let me hear it again, 

" P'aying p'ayers," as a fpirit in blifs ! 

My beauty ! my darling ! my precious ! my prize ! 

My cherub, my faint, and my fweet ! 
My child that haft won the bright goal of the ikies, 

My herald in heaven to meet ! 
O thanks be to God, that his bountiful love 

To me the glad blefling hath given, 
My babe — to be heir of His glory above, 

My daughter — His daughter in Heaven ! 



My pretty one beneath the fod, 

My pretty one beyond the Iky, 
My darling gone to be with God, 

And nevermore to moan or die, — 
My Alice ! faft afleep in flowers 

Beneath the fhadow of the Crofs, 
How bleft is fuch a lofs as ours 

When thou art gainer by that lofs ! 

Befide the now deferted nave 

Of dear old ivied Albury Church, 
Befide our own anceflral grave, 

Befide the defecrated porch, — 
Our pretty darling lies beneath 

Her matted quilt of now' rets fair, 
And at her head, as bleffing death, 

The crofs of Jesus watches there. 

Sweet fpirit, pure and meek and mild, 

O patient martyr gone to blifs, 
I love thee, my moft precious child, 

Too deeply to repine at this : 
I long indeed to fee thofe eyes, 

And kifs their beauty o'er and o'er, 
But I fhall fee thee in the fkies, 

And there will kifs them evermore. 



O spirits made perfect ! How dear will ye be, 
In the bright happy world, where affections are free ! 
Unfetter'd from all the heart-flavery here, 
Unwarp'd by the world in its love or its fear, 
Uncheck'd in their impulfes — mifunderftood, 
Unchill'd in their warmth, and all glowing for good. 
O glorious and glad ! when in fulnefs and power 
The foul fliall expand like an amaranth flower, 
And open her beauties for every eye, 
And ihed out her fragrance on all that come nigh, 
And freely fly forth on the wings of a dove, 
And float in a rapture of purified love ! 

— There, foon in the garments of praife fhall I fee 
The fpirits that here have been deareft to me, 
Thofe beautiful darlings, by memory lhrined 
In the roots of the heart and the flem of the mind, 
On the magical leaves of afle&ion impreft, 
And burft into bloffom as fpirits made bleft ! 
How happy hereafter in union moil fweet 
Such cherifhed and glorified dear ones to meet ! 
And here, to look forward to thofe gone before 
In the joy and the hope of fuch meeting once more ! 
And now, to look upward and feel without fear 
That thefe are His meflengers helping us here ! 



( 339 ) 



Landed in fafety on the Tranquil Shore 
Where Change and Sin and Sorrow vex no more, 
What heart can wifh that Happy Spirit back, 
Or guefs the glories of his heavenly track ? 
For, thofe afcending wings have pierced the height 
Where Holy Jesus reigns, enthroned in light, 
And, as a finner fhould his Saviour meet, 
Albert ! thy lips have kifT'd His bleffed feet, 
Till the fcarr'd hands, for us once crucified, 
Raifed thee and throned thee by His gracious fide, 
Among the faints to fhare their great reward, 
For ever and for ever with the Lord ! 

O what were all the beft of earthly blifs, 
What all the honours of the world to this ? 
What better, than in both worlds to be bleft, 
With all Time's prizes, — and Eternal Reft ? 
Wife, temperate, chafte, the pattern for a Prince 
Undreamt till Arthur, nor enfampled fince, 
Religioufly he walk'd his ufeful life, 
Undimm'd by pleafure's floth and faction's flrife, 
The brave and modeft Leader in the van 
Of all that elevates and teaches Man, 
Till, quicken' d by his gift for doing good, 
Earth bloom'd again an Eden where He Hood ! 



34° The Balla/l-Heavers y Requeft. 

Though in half-felfifh forrow ftill we grieve, 
And fcarce our lofs can meafure or believe, 
Though ne'er till now, fince time and kings began, 
Hath a whole Nation, mourning for one man, 
Wept, as a mother for her only fon, 
The blamelefs, peerlefs, admirable One, — 
Yet, heart of England, — yet, O widow'd Queen ! 
Heeding that brighter world, and things unfeen, 
And the glad Spirit well enfranchifed thus, — 
Who, who could hope to have Him back with us ? 
What love would wifh impri fon' d here once more 
The Glorious Freeman of that Tranquil Shore I 



1863. 

" There was a Man, a Prince among men. 

As good as he was great, — 
We fhall not look on his like again, 

And he help' d our low eftate : 
The poor man's Friend, as the rich man's Chief, 

We loved him all over the land ; 
For never was human trouble or grief 
But he comforted, counfell'd, and brought it relief, 

And cheer'd it heart and hand ! 



" And us hath he faved from the middleman's gripe, 

Refcued from drink and its gall, — 
To us he was ever the model and type 

Of huiband, and father, and all, — 
He blefl: us while here, — and now that he 's gone, 

According to Bible ftory, 
His earner!: kind eyes, let us hope, blefs on, 
For each of us thinks of their light, as a fon 

Of his Father's eyes in glory. ! 

"That Prince among men, moll gracious Queen, 

Thou lov T edft. him better than we, 
And, dear to us all as He hath been, 

Dearer He was to Thee 3 
Then, for his fake, fo bold would we make,— 

A pricelefs gift we alt $ 
A picture of Him from his Wife to take, 
To keep it in honour for his dear fake, 

And all in its light to baik !" 

The Good Queen heard with a throbbing breaft, 

Where Sorrow and Hope ftill itrove -, 
And doubled the boon of their frank requefl 

In her Queenly mother-love 5 
For She faid, u My friends, take His, take mine, 

I am His — as none can fever — 
Together in kindlieft. memory fhri-ne 
My Great Good Lord in his reft divine, 

And me in my love for ever ! " 



( 342 ) 



%\t tote JUOtert ^tmxml 

Honour ! — an Albert Order for the wife, the true, the 

good — 
To balance The Victoria Crofs for deeds of hardihood 5 
Honour ! — a jewell'd medal of the Face we held fo 

dear, 
Where all the virtues ihow'd like ftars, and flione fo 

bright and clear : 

A Badge for Civil Merit, — our Albert's inmoft thought, 
Witnefs'd by every word He ipake, by every work He 

wrought 5 
That jufter Memory of the Man and the High place 

He nll'd, 
Than all our quarried marbles, or our molten bronze 

could build. 

Enough, O Queen, of honours for the Magnates of the 

State -, 
Enough, — though well deferved, — of flars and titles 

for the Great ; — 
In praife of Albert, now at length bid England's 

Heralds find 
An Order for the holy heart, and for the mighty mind ! 

The whole World's Worthies need fome wreath for 

civic good well done, 
And gladly would accept it as from That Tranflated 

One, 



The True Albert Memorial. 343 



Named His Companions, following Him, in all things 

" treu undfeft" 
And vow'd, like Him, to Good, before they enter into 

reft! 

And England's Worthies, — noble band! not even 

friendly France, 
To make her Legion of the Great, had fuch a golden 

chance, — 
Both fons and daughters, of all ranks, whom Hiftory's 

true pen 
Shall write upon the rolls of Fame, as injihe hearts of 

men ! 

O Queen, who alfo liveft there, regard thefe in Thy 

love ! 
Reward them as the friends of Him who refts in blifs 

above, — 
Let honour, for thine Albert's fake, on excellence 

defcend, 
And make true worth on every more Thy ftrong though 

humble friend ! 

Look up and down the land, O Queen ! — there is no 

lack of good 
So that Thou feek it not in men of place-and-party 

brood 5 
Look up and down the world, and fearch for true 

worth everywhere, 
And where Thou findeft Merit, give thine Albert's 

Order there ! 



344 For the Bible. 



So, let what fculptured Hones befide that Sainted Spirit 

praife, 
A nobler monument to Him Thy forrowing love fhall 

raife — 
A temple built in living Hones — of man's and woman's 

worth — 
The Order of Good Albert for the Excellent of Earth ! 



$at t\t Sifrle, 



The Maidens of England to the Princess Alice 
on her Marriage, July i, 1862. 

On this bright day, thy lifters, dear Princefs, 

Thy million lifters over all the land, 

In fair concentric groups, a maiden band, 
Surround thee, with glad eagernefs to blefs, 

And place a token in thy gentle hand 
Of their warm willies for thy happinefs : 

Take it, — a fimple book, — a common gift ; 
And yet more precious than the gems and gold 
Pour'd on thy marriage tables, feven times told 5 

For this hath grace the fpirit to uplift 
Above the pleafures and the pains of Time, 

Helping thy way with mercies from above, 
Cheering its goal with hopes of blifs fublime, 

And crowning all the joys of wedded love. 



( 345 ) 



Jl f saint fat farlral 



O bless the God of harveft, praife Him through the 

land, 
Thank Him for his precious gifts, his help, and liberal 

love : 
Praife Him for the fields, that have render' d up their 

riches, 
And, dreft in funny ilubbles, take their fabbath after 

toil; 
Praife Him for the clofe-fhorn plains, and uplands lying 

bare, 
And meadows, where the fweet-breath'd hay was 

itack'd in early fummer; 
Praife Him for the wheat-fheaves, gather' d fafely into 

barn, 
And fcattering now their golden drops beneath the 

founding flail $ 
Praife Him for the barley-mow, a little hill of fweetnefs, 
Praife Him for the cluttering hop, to add its fragrant 

bitter 5 
Praife Him for the wholefome root, that fatten'din the 

furrow, 
Praife Him for the mellow fruits, that bend the 

groaning bough : 
For bleflings on thy balket, and for bleffings on thy 
ftore, 



346 A Pf aim for Harveji. 

For fkill and labour profper'd well, by gracious funs 

and fliowers 5 
For mercies on the home, and for comforts on the 

hearth, 
O happy heart of this broad land, praife the God of 

harvefl ! 

All ye that have no tongue to praife, we will praife 

Him for you, 
And offer on our kindling fouls the tribute of your 

thanks : 
Trees and lhrubs, and the multitude of herbs, gladden- 
ing the eyes with verdure, 
For all your leaves and flowers and fruits, we praife the 

God of harvefl: ! 
Birds, and beetles in the duft, and infects flitting on 

the air, 
And ye that fwim the waters in your fcaly coats of 

mail, 
And fleers, refting after labour, and timorous flocks 

afold, 
And generous horfes, yoked in teams to draw the 

creaking wains, 
For all your lives, and every pleafure folacing that lot, 
Your fleep, and food, and animal peace, we praife the 

God of harvefl: ! 

And ye, O fome who never pray'd, and therefore cannot 

praife 5 
Poor darkling fons of care and toil and unillumined 

night, 



A Pf aim for Harveft. 347 

Who role betimes, but did not afk a bleffing on your 

work ; 
Who lay down late, but render' d no thank-offering for 

that bleffing 
Which all unfought He fent, and all unknown ye 

gather' d, — 
Alas ! for you and in your flead, we praife the God of 

harveft ! 



O ye famine-ftricken glens, whofe children fhriek'd for 

bread, 
And noifome alleys of the town, where fever fed on 

hunger, — 
O ye children of defpair, bitterly bewailing Erin, 
Come and join my cheerful praife, for God hath 

anfwer'd prayer: 
Praife Him for the better hopes, and figns of better 

times, 
Unity, gratitude, contentment -, induflry, peace, and 

plenty 3 
Blefs Him that His chaftening rod is now the fceptre of 

forgive nefs, 
And in your joy remember well to praife the God of 

harveft ! 



Come, gladly come along with me, and fwell this 

grateful fong, 
Ye nobler hearts, old England's own, her children of 

the foil : 
All ye that fbw'd the feed in faith, with thofe who 

reap'd in joy, 



348 The Heart's Gallop. 


And he that drove the plough afield, 


with all 


the 


icatter'd gleaners. 






And maids who milk the lowing kine, 


and boys 


that 


tend the ftieep, 






And men that load the fluggifh wain or 


• neatly thatch 


the rick, — 






Shout and ling for happinefs of heart, 


nor flint 


your 


thrilling cheers, 






But make the merry farmer's hall refound with 


glad 


rejoicings, 






And let him fpread the hearty feaft for 


joy at harveft- 


home, 






And join this cheerful fong of praife, — to blefs the God 


of harveft ! 









%\t fflttf * § 



A mindful man, but hearted like a child, 

Lived near my dwelling: he was frank and glad, 
Though many forrows might have made him fad ; 

But, to fay footh, his cheerfulnefs beguiled 
The way of life fo well, that trouble's power 
Was half unheeded, like a pafiing fhower : 

Still as he went he fang, hoping the belt, 
And refllefs energy claim 'd every hour, 



The Heart's Gallop. 349 

And with a buoyant fpirit he was bleft. 
One day we rode together on the grafs, 

Talking of bygone years and all the reft, 
So look'd for and fo fwiftly feen to pafs, 
When, as my gloomier fpirit figh'd Alas ! 

Thus to his pony's gallop keeping time 

His heart exulting pour'd itfelf in rhyme : — 

" Huzzah, — huzzah ! 
For fo much thrown behind my back, 
And fo many patches of light on my track, 
And fo much done, and fo much won, 
And life's race hitherto honeftly run, 
For honour and hope, and enough, and to fpare, 
And perfect Providence everywhere, — 
For peace and pleafure by nights and days, 
Huzzah ! give God the praife ! 

" Huzzah for the pari:, whatever betide 5 
Huzzah ! in piety, not in pride : 
Grateful and glad may the fpirit be feen, 
And humble at heart though triumphant in mien, 
While Sincerity rings right out 
Where Vanity lying would darken with doubt, — 
For happinefs, honour, and help always, 
Huzzah ! give God the praife ! 

" Yes, — for friends on every fhore, 
Loving and bleffing us more and more, — 
Yes, — for a fowing in every clime, 
To bud and to bear to the end of time, — 



350 The Heart's Gallop. 

Yes, — for a reaping rare and good, 
A heavenly harveft of angels' food, 
Mercies, comforts, pardoning love, 
And grace upon earth, and glory above, 
O friend ! with me our chorus raife, 

Huzzah ! give God the praife ! " 



BEG AO£A. 



Janies S» Virtue, Printer, City ftoad, London. 



^ofttcal flSlorfes bg tfje same &uti)or. 



THREE HUNDRED SONNETS. 



PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. 

(The fame Translated into French and German.) 



BALLADS FOR THE TIMES. 



LYRICS. 
GERALDINE, 

And other Poems. 

KING ALFRED'S POEMS. 

From the Anglo-Saxon. 



A THOUSAND LINES: 

HACTENUS: SACRA POESIS. 
&C. &C. 



^rosc 32Sorli& i»8 tfie same gJutJw. 



PROBABILITIES : 

An Aid to Faith. 

STEPHAN LANGTON; 

Or, the Days of King John. 



THE CROCK OF GOLD. 



HEART. 

THE TWINS. 

MSOF SMITH'S RIDES AND 
REVERIES. 



PATERFAMILIAS'S DIARY. 



AN AUTHOR'S MIND. 



A MODERN PYRAMID. 

&c. &c. 



*#* It is pojjille that this hook may at fome time he 
followed hy a fecond Jimilar Volume under the 
title of "Barbiton, a companion to Cithara:" 
wherein would he comprifed the Play of Alfred j 
Geraldine, a fequel to Christabel 5 and 
a multitude of remaining Poems hy the fame 
Author. 



C74 89 




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HECKMAN |^ 

BINDERY INC. |8| 

f^ JAN 89 

' i "~ N. MANCHESTER, 
INDIANA 46962 



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